Visions
by IntergalacticHobbit
Summary: The path is set for Leliana to finally meet the Lone Rose in her vision. Can shadow and light truly be one?
1. Prologue

History's ghosts are jumping out at her and Dr. Julia Wilson cannot decide if she should be shocked or excited. There in the place where dust has settled for a millennium, the minutes trickle with tense anticipation. Her brush has long seized clearing particles, limp beside her gloved hand.

The day hasn't quite reached midpoint yet. Slivers of sunshine slip through the glistening, snowy mountain tops and the crisp air carries a calm that blankets the valley. Yet for all the serenity, she cannot stave off the creeping disbelief. The fingers of mystique are gaining on her, transporting her away from the goings on in the bustling chamber. Every scholar and mason is replaced by the swirling dance of green and black. The grit and grind of shovels and hammers are drowned out by a mysterious ethereal hum. The very same that called her attention earlier in the morning.

After a few more moments of paralysis, reality drags her back along the trenches. Fighting back the multitude of emotions she takes a breath and reaches for a clear plastic cover. Securing the surprise amongst broken tiles, she gathers her bearing. Seconds become a full minute. And then two.

"Professor, I think you should see this." She waits with baited breath, her eyes locked onto the object as if it's about to evaporate.

"We don't have time for crafts and random artifacts, Jules. Chop chop." Her boss has the audacity to huff in the face of history. She finds herself zeroing in on her superior. The magnitude; the potential is too big to ignore. She feels the anticipation bubbling up to the surface. Finally she lets it out in a single breath:

"And what of glowing orbs?"

She can almost see the professor's ears grow sharper amidst chatter and hammer blows. Just then a great crash echoes through the room, enveloping it in tension even icier than the snow outside. In the corner of her eyes, she can see a group of masons making their way to an imposing arched mirror inside the great vault. It's another couple of minutes before she fully realizes that it, too, is glowing, humming the same rhythm as the orb.

By then the clipboard her boss has been holding is forgotten. For all the professors' poise, she is starting to see hints of hesitation. Gathering her resolve, she meets his disbelieving gaze with steady ones of her own.

"Professor, isn't that enough to pique your interest? From one archaeologist to another, it's a-"

"A long shot, Dr. Wilson. That is what it is. A thousand-to-one, I daresay!" He remains in denial with a snobbish huff.

"And yet, here we are with an orb and a mirror to match." Before she knows it, Julia's shuffling her feet, her gloved hands cradling the orb. She can't help but fall into its spell once again, with its rhythmic glow growing livelier with each step. Finally she stops by the vault's thick metal door.

"I think they're calling to one another. Fascinating!" With unbridled awe she raises the orb as far as she can reach, mesmerized by the dance the mirror is reflecting. Just like that, the orb and the mirror become the center of the universe and somehow it feels like Christmas morning. All of a sudden, a pain shoots up her arms, burning and stinging and all-consuming.

"Dr. Eris! Geophysics is picking up something! It's escalating quick!" She hears her colleague and focuses on his voice to drown out the searing pain. "I think it's coming from where Julia's standing!"

"Dr. Wilson!" It's her boss now, reaching out to her from behind. "Put down the orb! Now!"

She thought she picked up panic in his voice but it's nothing to the panic that's jolting through her now. "Professor! I-I can't-"

She looks up to see his whitewashed face, his overstretched hands beckoning. By now the entrancing dance has evolved into an angry disturbance. The ground is growing shakier by the second, with people shielding equipment from the ceiling that's coming undone. She looks down to focus on removing the unwilling orb from her hands.

"Jules! You have to let go of it NOW!"

"It won't come off!" She barely recognizes the tears in her voice. For all the calm it has emitted mere minutes ago, it's almost like the orb is coming to a mind of its own. With one last struggle, she collapses in a heap, bracing for the white-hot impact coming her way.


	2. Chapter 1: Knock, Knock Anybody Home?

alexmcdonald: Thanks! I really am doing my best to be a better writer each time I hunker down on this story. I'm so glad you're enjoying it. It's one thing to have all these views but it's a whole other ballpark altogether when someone leaves a review. Makes me feel I'm on the right track. :)

*****

Chapter 1: Knock, Knock... Anybody Home?

The takeoff bay looms and Flight Lt. Nikolai Valmont sets off even faster with his flying gear in tow. Soon enough the Griffin HAR2 helicopter dominates the landscape with the flight crew doing last minute check. Its striped red and white rotors spin in feverish speed, boosting the majestic machine to life. Wasting no time he puts on his riding gear and brushes up his blonde hair for the helmet, "What's the mission?"

His lead pilot pays him a quick glance and answers, "Radar picked up a disturbance in the Northern Frostbacks." Taking in his befuddled expression the man adds, "I know. Most of the mountains are still unchartered territory and who would haul advanced tech equipment that far up? They want us to do due diligence regardless."

"Right, let's do this quick and easy then," he replies as they board the cockpit, with the third officer, a paramedic, sitting at the back. They are airborne shortly after being granted flight credentials and coordinates. From his co-pilot seat he revels on the shimmering shores of the Waking Sea. The high noon sun makes for clear visibility, allowing for views as far as the coast of the Free Marches. If he squints, he swears he can even see Cumberland just beyond the mass that is the Planasene Forest.

As they leave Jader behind, the azure sea soon gives way to the pure, white slopes that mark the beginning of the Frostback Mountains. Even with the sealed off aircraft the shift in temperature starts to seep in, the cold enveloping. True enough they soon find themselves treated to 360 degrees of pristine tundra and jagged rocks. It's a delicate representation of how the blanket of snow masks the underlying danger of which the mountain range is notorious.

They're reaching close to an hour of flying amongst snowy peaks when the mountains open up to unveil a valley. The sun bathes it in golden rays and the gentle mountain slopes cradle it like a long-held secret. In its very belly, the glittering trail of a river lies enchanting and inviting, further highlighting its quiet beauty. Nikolai can't resist tracing where it winds up. Time-reality are suspended as he soaks up the visual feast. The serenity of the place embraces him, threatening to pull him deeper into a lulled sense of security. Right then and there he is transported in a way not even his shiny Griffin couldn't.

The river bends around the base of a great stone fortress, all the more imposing in its quietness. He spots a gravel path that winds up to an arched stone gate; a slender stone way leads it to a second blockade by the ramparts. With every second he grows awed by the structure that stands tall and mighty in the afternoon sun. Finally he speaks through his helmet's microphone piece, "I'm not one for ruins and such, but this one is right up there. But scientific expeditions? That would require a grand effort."

"I say let's survey the general area first before sending boots on the ground." His lead pilot's reply crackle through as they maneuver around the ruin's premises. The ancient ramparts are blackened all around. It leads out to what appears to be a fallen down arch bridge that must have served as a shortcut to the fortress. They gawk as a hole in what must be the great hall greets them as they complete the round.

Yet, the most surreal and out of place finding was waiting for them in the upper courtyard. A handful of tents flap forlorn in environs that had probably not been a camping choice for decades, if not longer. Much longer judging by the crumbling blacksmith and the exposed dual hearths. In the lower courtyard, he had to do a double take as a rundown barn unveils an honest-to-God van.

"Jader, confirming mission coordinates—over," Nikolai glances over the rest of the crew.

"Affirmative, Squadron 2. You have the go-ahead—over," the base gets back to them with instructions. All the while, the fast forming webs in his mind are further accelerated seeing the confused look on his fellow officers' faces. Sure, they had been to countless missions in the past two years but never has a deployment been shrouded in this much mystery.

 _And foreboding._

That's what's creeping up his spine, making his hair stand. This fortress has been built this high and completely out of place for a reason. The walls feel like they're keeping something contained more than keeping intruders out. All of a sudden, the out-of-this-world valley doesn't look too inviting anymore. If anything, the enclosure now feels more of a prison. A death hole of sorts to the unsuspecting and incautious.

 _Whatever has transpired here… I am sure nobody could have survived._

Slight panic is beginning to bud in his mind; flight or fight starting to battle over the other. The Griffin's rotors slice through the thick, heavy silence of the valley and he can feel his stomach swirling along. The scenic vista, instead of lessening the eeriness of the place only adds to its unsettling mystique.

Impeded by the random tents, they made their way to the lower courtyard just beside an age-worn circular keep. Their paramedic spots a side stairwell that can provide easy access inside. At least they won't have to brave through crumbling stone steps and halls that no doubt riddle the great hall.

Nikolai and the paramedic didn't waste time and immediately set up their MTS front display. Just as quick, a green dot comes alive, pointing them right in the heart of the keep. Their eyes remain alert as they keep track of where the disturbance is. As has been customary with their three-man crew, the lead pilot stays behind to man the running Griffin in case of a quick getaway. Efficiency and solid communication are at the premium—especially where they are right now. The place may be far removed but they still cannot discount potential hostile activities.

In no time they reach the top of the curving stairwell, the air getting chillier as they climb higher. They push the door open, bringing with it a smell of decay and abandonment reaching out from within. With every step he feels a shiver run up his spine.

 _This place is not used to having people._

They enter what appears to be a rundown kitchen with a large hearth at the other end. "Nods up," he signals and they both switch on their night vision goggles. Tablet-like MTS guide their way as they clear areas, hand guns at the ready.

When another room—a cellar, is also cleared, they move on to the caved in hall up ahead. Beams of sunlight trickle in straight from the great hall's roof up above. Still, there's a darkness to the place that cannot be erased. Shadows have settled and taken root, nurturing a sinister energy. As they go forward, it gets more difficult to move—from the debris or something else he does not know. He doesn't want to find out.

"Talk about spiking up the creep factor," the paramedic intones. Nikolai lets out a small laugh in agreement and adds, "And yet, it's perfectly calm. I doubt anyone would stay here for long."

Their attention is drawn to their jackets' MTS displays that are by now pulsing with activity. "We can't be far, then." Nikolai gestures for the paramedic to follow close behind as they approach a wall. Remains of two rock statues lay heaped on both ends. What greets them in the middle, however, increases the shock and creep factor tenfold.

"We have a person! Attempting first aid now!" The paramedic officer is down on his knees in a heartbeat. "Late 20's/Early 30's female, third degree burns on both hands, signs of trauma!" He proceeds to report via the radio perched on his left shoulder, "Damn it! We came too late! She—she didn't make it."

"It looks like something was ripped out of her hands." Nikolai bends over as he observes smoke sizzling out from both palms. Skinned, exposed, raw palms. He closes his eyes to offer a short prayer and to rid himself of potential nightmares. By now his stomach is in all sorts of loops, what with all the tension and suspense. The MTS isn't helping either as it provides a pronounced beat that his pulse has decided to follow. As the paramedic closes the woman's petrified eyes Nikolai stands straight, scanning the span of the hall. He's not even five steps away when the MTS goes off in a frenzy.

"If I'm being frank, I'm getting too creeped out by the erratic signals. It's best we already finish what we came here to do." The man intones and Nikolai can't say he disagrees. Keeping his shaking hands steady, he reaches for his radio to update the lead pilot. "Griffin, we'll be heading out for now with a body—over."

"Just confirming you've said a body—over." The static wafts through the dead, chilly air.

"Affirmative—over." He confirms as detached as possible, determined to keep his stomach from heaving. He turns toward the kitchen waiting for further instructions when a low groan emanates from somewhere in the wall. The two men startle, getting closer to listen in. All thoughts of safe evacuation went out the window as they see the rusty handle bars of a metal vault groan to life.

"We got movement!" Nikolai reports through the radio before zipping up the MTS to his chest. He gestures to the paramedic to clear out as he dashes behind one of the stone pillars along the hall. He spies the paramedic edging sideways to one of the statues, getting in a position to flank. In the most quiet way he can muster, he pulls out his handgun and secures it to his chest.

In the silence and darkness he waits, getting ready mentally for what is about to jump out of the shadows. He hears the slow creaking of the vault's door. It groans in protest, shaking off the heavy weight of many years' inactivity. The waiting game reaches its tense peak as the door finally hits the wall. After close to a minute, light footsteps disturb the heavy, dense air. One step after another, they grow ever more sure as they creep nearer. His heart rate picks up. Beads of sweat slide down the back of his neck as he wills himself to keep still, not even daring to breathe. He grips his handgun tighter just as the last of the footsteps fade.

Just then, a great light erupts, rendering them blind.

"Switch to thermal!" Nikolai shouts across the room. As soon as he recovered his vision he sees a woman standing in the rubble. He fires and disarms her of what looks like a tall walking stick seconds before his co-officer tackles her from behind.

Wasting no time he sets off a flare and tosses it into the vault. Red light washes over the confined space and pours out to the hall. Seeing that the woman is now in handcuffs, he sets out to clear the vault. His hand gun remains steady and sure as his eyes sweep over the vault's contents. Mountains of gold coins fill out the room. A bigger-than-life antique mirror rests by the far wall. Before the mirror are three women—dirty, bloodied, and focused on him with crazed eyes.

"Ma'am, please drop the sword and put your hands where I can see them," he warns the short haired woman to the left. Seeing her getting primed to attack he lets loose a shot. Its blast spreads through what the crew thought was a long-abandoned ruin.

"I suggest you proceed with great caution. Drop your sword—drop any weapons you have, the three of you, and put your hands where I can clearly see them." He repeats with more firmness this time. He keeps his focus on the three women now huddling in the middle of the room. Their arms go over their heads in surrender, eyes filled with terror and contained rage. He feels guilt wash over him.

 _Princes rescue damsels from lonely towers, not stupefy and terrorize them._

"Lieutenant, report—over." The static comes alive and his left hand reaches up to the radio to respond. With beady eyes he watches over them, his gun still ready to fire. "Situation contained. We found four women presumably middle aged inside a vault, armed. We're bringing them out now—over." He sets his left hand to join the right as he sees the redhead and the short haired one make eye contact. Well that can't ever be good.

"Hey! Eyes on me! Walk out the vault in single file still with your hands up in the air. This would be over and done with far more easily if you cooperate." He intones as he nods to the paramedic.

"Let's make sure each one of them is secure. Stick to the nods," he says, attempting to short hand, remaining with thermal vision. He is relieved when his co-officer follows his lead with the plastic handcuffs. Now is really not the best time to argue over being big, bad cops. As a search and rescue unit they're inclined to respond as non-combative as possible. But then, what can two of them do against four wild eyed, hostile captives? No, it's best they err on the side of safety. Plus, whoever has locked them in that vault might be on their way back. Griffin or no, the three of them would not be able to handle that sort of mess.

Nikolai leads the way back out as the paramedic covers the rear. He hears one of the women gasp as the light from the roof washes over the long-deprived area. "What damage they have wrought in so short a time!" A couple of stumbles here and there and they make it back the short way they came. Out of the pillared hallway, through the dank and rotten kitchen. Soon enough they are descending the curved side stairs back to their helicopter.

"You are out of your mind if you think I will go in to that!" Shorthair is incredulous. She takes in the sight of the aircraft as if planning to take down a dragon.

"Oh look, they have two." It's the redhead, her tone dripping with acid sarcasm. Nikolai looks up to follow her gaze and spots another chopper attempting to land not far from them.

"I've called out red alert the moment I saw three body bags in the van. Looks like I called the right thing with you mentioning a fourth one. And now, that. Who are those?" Their lead pilot chimes in from the cockpit, his voice crackling through their helmet.

"You wouldn't even believe if I told you point blank, Captain." It's the paramedic who answered, all the while flinching when the staffed woman he tackled glanced back to him with, legitimately, a look that can kill.

Nikolai lets out a sigh before taking off his vision goggles. Looking at the women he musters all the sincerity he can with his blue eyes. It's always worked in the past, so he fails to see why it wouldn't now. "Ma'am, please, we are not here to attack you nor take you to any harm. We were just sent here to investigate. Now, I implore you, allow us to help you," he looks every woman square in the eyes as he went. He could tell they had been through a lot. Well, imagine someone trapping you inside an ancient vault?

He's a bit surprised with the lack of response, with just the redhead deigning to sass back. "Oh? And we suppose we should take that to heart with our hands tied back?" The woman did a great job intimidating despite the handcuffs.

"Listen, miss. In case you've missed it, your friends started it!" He gives his paramedic an affirmative nod as the other man retorted. They were attacked first, after all.

"How should we know you were not there to attack us?!" Shorthair interjected, rearing forward with a snarl.

"How should we know there would be people inside an ancient vault?!" Nikolai exchanges incredulous looks with the paramedic as the man accepts Shorthair's challenge. At this point the third member of the crew has joined in on the fray along with two more officers from the second chopper.

Perhaps it's not only him, but there's something with these women that don't feel right. Like they could tear their eyes out and do it with a sweet smile. It makes him wonder whether the plastic handcuffs would even be enough. Him wondering about that in particular makes him swallow and grip his handgun a little more tight.

"Hey, no one here is out to get you. Take a look at the side of our chopper: SEARCH AND RESCUE." His lead pilot tries to defuse the tension, pointing to the block letters on the side of the Griffin.

"If it is true that you are here to help us, then where are you taking us?" It's the one in the yellow dress. Hazel eyes beseech him, full of anxiety and concern and he feels his eyes soften for the hapless woman.

"Our base is only about an hour's flight from here, in Jader. Please, let us take you there. It will be perfectly safe. You are safe with us," he emphasizes the last part. He hopes that he will get through to at least one of them. And it is just a matter of time, too, as he comes to terms with actually using sedatives to get them aboard.

What effect he hoped to have with his words has evaporated as he watches the four share alarmed looks. His co-officers seemed to have caught on as well, with the paramedic moving on to approach the group. There are no longer traces of the edge he has shown in the past few minutes, his first aid instincts winning out. "Can you tell us how you got inside the vault? Who has put you there?"

The one in yellow was about to answer when the one with the walking staff beat her to it, "We are still disconcerted. 'Twas quite the harrowing ordeal and I'm afraid my companions and I are still trying to cope." They watch her take in her surroundings, despair and panic haunt her face with every turn. Nikolai's a step away from the woman when he realizes the other two men have moved in as well.

"Someone has abducted you then?" His lead pilot pauses in his interrogation as they take in the panicked look in the woman's eyes. "It's alright. You're safe now. No one is going to get to you. You can tell us," the man persuades. He was about to reach for her shoulders when the second crew comes over with a body bag. The woman they found in the hall. Nikolai finds himself closing his eyes to rid of the flashback.

"We are taking this one along with ze others," one of them informs in thick Orlesian accent.

"Wait, you're not with us?" Nikolai presses as he takes on their uniform. It is distinctive of the Orlesian blue and yellow, in contrast to their dowdy camouflage.

"No. I suppose we learned of ze disturbance at the same time but since we are just based at ze foot of the Frostbacks, we arrived in shorter time. Two teams had already been here, flying out survivors. This is our third trip for ze casualties."

"Have you learned the cause?" It's their lead pilot this time.

"According to one of ze survivors, a huge explosion. They are still in great shock so more information should be ready in time. You should also start heading out. Clouds were forming on our way here. Best you avoid that on the way back to Jader. Enough accidents for one afternoon, oui?" The Orlesian SAR huff out the last parts on their way to their own chopper, with their lead pilot shouting out thanks.

"Jader, reporting an explosion accident. Judging by the equipment here, an academic expedition gone wrong. Also, four females were discovered inside a vault on location—over." His lead pilot wastes no time, turning his attention to the radio perched on his shoulder.

All of a sudden, the woman in yellow dress falls to the cold ground, her shoulder absorbing the impact. It was his lead pilot who got to her first, "Ma'am, are you alright?"

"Please, these are all just too much to hear." Nikolai felt his cheeks flush as he looks over the shivering woman.

"For the love of everything that's holy in this Earth, will somebody cut them loose?!" His lead pilot thunders.

Nikolai hopes his swallow was only audible to him as he starts with the shivering woman. "Please allow me to apologize, madams. The last thing we want is to have distressed you further," he directs to all four as he cuts the handcuffs loose. He feels himself shrink from his 6'4" frame as he weathers Shorthair's withering glare.

"We had better get it going, Lieutenant. The Orlesians are right, clouds are starting to move in," his lead pilot muses. The man's eyes remain upwards, observing the downcast sky. They move as one as they try to wrap up the rescue mission.

"We have warm blankets on board." Nikolai remarks as he strides to embark. "If you could please allow me to assist you aboard, we would be away from the elements and danger."

"Please follow the lieutenant aboard. There is more than enough space for everyone. You can rest assured that your travel will be in the hands of the best of the Royal Air Force." His lead pilot directs the last sentence to the redhead with the hawk-like, blue eyes.

It's quite the process, one that included Shorthair slapping his hands away one time too many. At last, Nikolai managed to get the four settled in, all tucked in with thick blankets. "Can you handle seatbelts and headsets?" He faces the paramedic who is occupying a folding seat in front of the four women.

"Roger that, Lieutenant!" The paramedic shouts through the engine noise, already reaching out for headsets.

He shuts the side door close on his way down and embarks to his usual seat upfront. "...the seatbelts are there for security, in case of turbulence. Now, you may not have mouth pieces but you can still hear when someone speaks. It's dual purpose that way. It cancels out the engine noise and enhances communication." He hears the paramedic in his brief overview as he fixes his own headset.

"Jader, this is Squadron 2. Mission accomplished—over." He reports back to base and checks for any potential difficulty along the route.

"Your report is acknowledged, Squadron 2. Navigation sees nothing on the horizon for you but better make a look out for turbulence along the way. Other than that, enjoy the sunset, boys—over." The three crew members laugh at the last part. No doubt they're looking forward to a very welcome ending to a most peculiar day.

"Roger, Jader. Over and out," his co-pilot remarks, with steady hands at the helm.

Leliana cannot believe that it's been this easy to lull the three men into a sense of false security. In as much as she and Morrigan have had nothing else to do but bicker through the years, she has to give the witch credit. What a masterful job. It seems she has not lost a step from her men luring days as a young girl in the Korcari Wilds. She bids her time as they're given blankets for the ride. _Blankets._ As if these fools could not have made it any easier for the _Nightingale_ to go into subterfuge.

She shares a look with Cassandra. One that only holds any meaning between the two of them. It is one of the many things they have developed through the years of serving as the Right and Left Hands of the Divine. As soon as they are out of the perilous valley and mountain ranges, they strike. They must regroup with allies, however little are left. Somehow, they must find a way or Thedas will falter. She thinks back to what's become of Skyhold and cringes at the alternative.

Soon enough, snowy peaks give way to prairies and Leliana finds herself squaring her jaw. She grips the hilt of her sleeve dagger tight, not a care as she unsheathes it under the thick blanket. She gives Cassandra a sideways nod which is more than enough for the Right Hand. Not a second passes and they move as one, just like old times. Counterparts working together as a formidable unit. Cassandra leaps forward to the man sitting with them as she goes straight for the throat of the man in front of her.

"MAYDAY!" A voice wafts through the head gear given to her. It was the man who has led them out of Skyhold. She presses the dagger a little firmer and the effect is instant. The shouting stops, but not soon enough as the third man is alerted. He has just lost the vessel in a span of seconds. She was about to neutralize him when Morrigan enters her peripheral vision. Her fist is swift and sure, straight to the nose of the remaining unconstrained member of the group. To her dismay, he recovers after a beat and yanks the steering stick sideways.

She does not remember what happened but in the blink of an eye, Leliana finds herself tumbling on all sides. Upside-down, side to side. She crashes on her shoulders beside a horrified Josephine who is still buckled in. She narrows her eyes at Morrigan and shouts, "Do something!"

"Fool! 'Twould not do any good if we are all blown up! There is no room here and I for one will not add to the ruckus with a ricocheting ice spell!"

Finally the aerial acrobatics relent and Leliana twists sideways to evade an errant elbow. Frantic movements rule over the cramped space. Leliana scrambles as she looks for her dagger, ducking out of the way of punches and flung bodies. She sees Cassandra giving the man a head butt square on the nose as she dives for her weapon. Suddenly she feels the rush of strong air invading the metal chamber. Morrigan has melted the glass panel, leaving a large gaping hole in its stead. The apostate's attention remains on the side door as she tries to pry it open.

They are nearing the shores of Jader. They have no time left. They cannot have survived Skyhold only to fall into another quagmire of sorts. Leliana sees Cassandra dodge a kick and place a punch to the man's stomach with her discarded head gear. She was about to help Morrigan with the door when the vessel went into another roll amongst the clouds. From where she clings to one of the seats, she sees the third man crashing hard onto the other side door. She takes advantage and free falls to land at his back, allowing Cassandra to take hold of his weapon. The vessel swerves the other way and she finds herself landing on the back of the captain.

"Jader, reporting hostile activities aboard the Griffin. Requesting air support—over," relays the man with the broken nose. He wipes blood off with a grimace.

Leliana takes full advantage of the man's pre-occupation and lunges once again.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" The younger man half expected her this time and was able to dodge. "Do you have this, Captain?"

"Go! Give me enough time to get us to base, we're almost there! T minus 3!"

She fights to stand her ground as the younger man dove towards her from his seat. He crosses over to the back with one hand on hers and the dagger, the other catching her fist. They stumble for footing and land on the seats, the man on top, raising her hands overhead. She thrashes her legs and lands a couple of sharp kicks. The man continues to brave her assault, his blue eyes growing intense as they gaze upon her own.

"Can we please talk this through? I can only imagine it has not been an easy experience for you—all of you. I am willing to attribute this to shock. If you are willing to put your faith in me, then I will put my faith in you as well."

"Are you being serious right now?! She stepped on my throat!"

The young man cannot resist and gives the other man a quick side glare, which was all that Cassandra needed. The Right Hand seizes the young man from his back, pointing the weapon to his neck. By now Morrigan has managed to get the door to open, but it proves to have all been in vain. They pause as one as they feel the vessel descending. Time has run out on them. The great unknown starts to weigh heavy on her shoulders. She has failed to see them through. They had one chance and now the door has closed on them, leaving them amidst the darkness of what lies ahead. Now instead of freedom, what greets them is a wall of pointed weapons, the engine of the vessel dying down.

At this point the young man has let go of her hands, unmoving as Cassandra presses the weapon closer. Just then, the third man tackles Cassandra from behind. He dashes all the way out of the vessel, making the three of them and Morrigan tumble out into the open space. She catches Morrigan bracing for an attack when a booming voice dominated the air.

"MAKE ONE WRONG MOVE AND YOU WILL BE SUBJECTED TO THE MIGHT OF THE FERELDAN ARMED FORCES. DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND STEP AWAY FROM THE _FUTURE KING OF FERELDEN._ "


	3. Chapter 2: Whenever, Wherever

**Chapter 2 Whenever, Wherever**

"I'm going to ask again... who sent you?!" The interrogator slams his fists at the table, eyes blazing as he regards the four women.

"No one has sent us," Leliana responds. She takes in her appearance at the large mirror facing them, thinly veiled boredom lording over her features. Her hood is long gone during the inspection, along with her dagger and other personal effects. All four of them underwent the same process, and now she is wearing this ridiculous orange outfit. Her eyebrows meet in a frown. _I had never been so... orange in my entire life. And the slippers!_

Leliana directs her attention back to the shouting officer who is pacing in front of her. She fights a smirk as the man makes a show of his empty posturing.

"You're not getting it. _None_ of you is coming out of here anytime soon if you don't give us names!"

 _That table is going to give way soon if he doesn't stop. Such a waste._ "You can keep shouting and I'd just keep giving you the same answer because it's the only one I have. I don't have names. None that can be useful to you or your swollen fists."

"Leliana!" Josephine interjects with a sharp glare. It softens as she turns to the interrogator, "Officer, please. What has transpired this afternoon was nothing more than an act of desperation. We found ourselves inside a vault; that's how we came to. We had nothing around us but gold coins and a mirror. Whatever were we supposed to think? There was no way out until they came and found us."

The officer snorted and guffawed, eyes glinting with mirth. "Please! That might have worked on those goofy search and rescue clowns, but it would take a lot more than that to get to me! Did you really expect me to take you on your word? Even if you were drugged, who would get to so much trouble to keep you all the way up there?"

"We already told you what you needed to know! Why do you keep prattling on with the same lines? Where is your commanding officer?" Cassandra thunders through. Her wrists had long turned angry red from the metal handcuffs.

"You have some gall, lady, acting like you're some kind of big shot around here! If the Tower was still used today you'd be on your way to the very top faster than you can say _Calenhad!_ You have some nerve pulling that stunt with the Crown Prince! So you want to play tough, eh? Alright, then. No meals for you until you come to your senses!"

The officer knocks to someone outside to open the door. A slam and they are alone in the white, nondescript room. There's no window to help keep track of time; all they know is that it's been hours since they were detained. Earlier in the evening the soldiers had sequestered them into separate rooms. No doubt making them talk one by one through intimidation. And then came the weighing, with all the prodding and sticking of metal sticks to the mouth. Even her vetting process has never been this thorough. Leliana takes a deep breath. _It's going to be several hours more before it ends. How it ends is the real question._

In a low voice she regards her companions. "How are we going to play it out? We have to have an end game here or going through that mirror would have been for nothing."

"We should do away with aggression." Josephine gives Cassandra a sharp glance as she answers. "There is no scenario here where we prevail through force. They are far too many, with far more advanced capabilities than we could ever imagine."

"And what have I been doing before mounting that vessel? Hadn't I almost succeeded in making them eat out of my palm if not for this pair of lunatics?" Morrigan intones. Just hearing her speak gets Leliana's teeth grinding.

"They were about to take us somewhere we know nothing about. I'm sorry if slashing a man's throat is too gory for an apostate." The spymaster and the sorceress face off, eyes narrowing towards each other.

"You are many things, Bard, but I have never thought being without wit is one of them. Will you ever run out of ways to go lower in my estimation? Perhaps all the bird singing and flower chasing has finally caught up to you."

Leliana starts edging closer, her gaze growing even colder. That is, until Josephine threw her off, standing between them two. "Not now, Leliana. You've already done enough. We have to salvage this situation if there's any hope to be had for the four of us."

The frost in Josephine's voice and eyes got her to shift stance. "Josie..."

She _hates_ disappointing Josephine. That one time over missed tea almost ate her up. She swore that the Breach will re-open first before she finds herself with the same infraction. And yet here she is. _Merde!_

"Tsk, tsk. 'Twould be most unfortunate, indeed, to have so many disappointed in you tonight. You can always leave some for tomorrow." Morrigan piles on from behind Josephine with a smirk, her golden eyes dancing in yellow light from overhead.

She feels her eyes start burning with derision for the witch. Before she can do anything else, however, she gives pause to a hand at her elbow. Cassandra restrains her with shackled hands and whispers to her ear, "Hold it in. I get a feeling that someone is watching."

"But—" She jerks her head towards Cassandra, confusion reigning over.

"The mirror. Keep your eyes on me." Cassandra gives her a nod and directs her back to the bench. The Right Hand turns to the other two, "Let's discuss more over here. Ambassador—"

"Yes, of course. Going back to what I was saying, we have _nothing._ Don't give me that look, the three of you, it's actually a good thing," Josephine starts and pays back their eye rolls with a quirked eyebrow. "Now, we can still turn this around by having it into our strength. We just have to keep playing at rescued captives."

"What then when they start asking for personal information? And they will. What if Solas tracks us through the information we give?" Cassandra counters from her spot between Leliana and Morrigan.

At that moment, it struck her. Leliana can't believe how she has failed to remember. She can only close her eyes, unable to evade the frustration crashing over her. For all her emphasis on details big and small, this one may just be her very undoing as a seasoned spymaster. Of what remains of the Inquisition. She finds herself detaching from Josephine's droning, tracing their steps. Her lips thin as she realizes golden eyes observing her. Not a second sooner and the well-worn mask is back on, a wall against Morrigan's knowing gaze. She wills herself to focus on Josephine's voice.

"As I've said, whatever we have would have to do. We give them the basics. We are not nobodies. I am a Montilyet. You are a Pentaghast and the Right Hand of the Divine. And you two are the Imperial Court's Nightingale and Enchantress. If nothing else, Empress Celene and Divine Victoria would have their attention." Josephine looks convinced that her plan would work as she paces back and forth in front of them.

"Oh? I never thought Celene had developed flying transport vessels in _Jader_ of all places." Leliana quips. She finally pays Morrigan a sharp glance, unable to ignore the condescending nod thrown her way.

"This is true. 'Tis clear that we are in our own world no longer." The sorceress continues to study her. For better or worse, Morrigan has caught scent and now she finds herself in a second discussion she fears Cassandra and Josephine would soon catch on. A most _unideal_ time for it to unravel. Not without a plan or a solution.

"But we must insist on this plan! Or does anyone else have something else in mind?" Josephine hedges, hands wrung together as she is wont to do in times of anxiety. Leliana stares at the mirror ahead, deciding to stay mum.

"Very well. Then we have decided on this. We came to inside the dark vault and then go from there." Cassandra stands, as if she has someplace else to be.

"And what of my staff and the Eluvian? The fact remains that we must find a way to retrieve them before someone else does." Morrigan remains unflinching in the way the three of them are looking at her.

"That Eluvian is the reason we are in this mess in the first place!" Cassandra hisses. Suddenly it's no longer a pacifying idea to have the mercurial Nevarran right beside Morrigan.

"That Eluvian is the only reason we live!" The witch soldiers her point across.

"And so we must use it as leverage. Admit to its rare value. Not of the origin. Just allude to its old age and heritage so that they will be inclined to go back for it." Josephine weighs in from where she is standing by the mirror.

They remain like so for several minutes, the blanketing silence adding to the room's bereft and sterile wills herself to focus on their current situation. Or at least she tries. Somewhere deep inside, another Leliana is roused. The one she cannot stop from rummaging through fragments of memories. Location… people… explosion. She ignores the sting as she sifts through shards of details during that night. And then, a wince. Generously given away by the calculating mask that was supposed to know no emotion. She notices Morrigan watching her from across the room. The witch looks like she's about to say something but was halted by the opening of the door.

"Alright ladies, time for a change of scenery. With me." 

* * *

It must have been close to an hour since the soldiers transferred the four of them to this new location. This time they have natural light and trees to look at outside the windows. Josephine could only hope it could be a source of comfort.

Yet, she could not quite do away with the gnawing feeling in her stomach. Leliana and Cassandra attacking when they did have complicated matters for them. Josephine cannot voice it out but she sees herself aligning with Morrigan more and more with each passing hour. Regardless of the expertise they share between the four of them, they are still in over their heads. This is a Game they have no idea how to play.

The pleasant environment starts to have the opposite effect on her. The openness of the area makes her feel restricted and the windows start to feel taunting. All the glass walls and doors nails her deeper to her seat, wary of a watchful eye. She is starting to wonder if having them sit here is a deliberate move to throw them off balance.

"They must be related," Leliana muses from beside her.

She stops from watching the people working outside. "Surely you say that in jest! We are about to be interrogated and that is how you decide to spend the time?" She looks at her with narrowed eyes, shaking her head in disbelief.

A beat. Then a couple more. "Who is related?"

"Ha! You see? The captain that rescued us and that officer right there. I wonder if they're cousins?" Leliana ponders as she sways on her swinging chair, nodding towards the tall man talking to his subordinate.

"How is it that you do not see that as a bad thing? If they are related, then he would not take lightly to what has happened!" Cassandra joins in from her spot by the window.

"Perhaps this is another way to rattle us. We must remain composed, Lady Cassandra." Josephine looks back to the Right Hand from where she is sitting.

"Composed? I'm composed! Who is not composed?!"

"Yes, we can see that," Morrigan interjects drily. She is walking around the room, inspecting everything she passes.

"Come, sit with us. All the standing is riling you up—sorry, you are not riled up. Just sit with us." Leliana attempts at pacifying her counterpart of a decade.

"I am not liking this," Cassandra professes as she takes one of the many vacant seats.

"Who does? But we see it through with what was discussed," Leliana's soothing voice envelopes the group.

They sit rigid in their seats as the officer emerges from his glass office, striding towards their room. Morrigan takes notice and occupies the seat on her other side. The towering man doesn't miss a beat as he closes the door behind him and takes a seat in front of them.

Josephine tries to distract herself from the growing tension by biting her lip. All this suspense is not doing her any good, and the night with no rest and food is not helping. _He must be using this to his advantage. Assert his position of leverage and get us to feel even more imbalanced._

He finally looks up from a document and within seconds, Josephine's musings were interrupted by a rich baritone voice. "I understand that they brought you in last night with nothing to eat? Let's rectify that, shall we?" He reaches out to the black apparatus in the middle of the table. A tone comes on as he presses a button, "Can somebody bring in breakfast, please?"

"Yes, sir!" A female voice came through and disappeared just as quick.

"Right. While waiting for that, can you please give me your basic personal information?" The officer reaches for a pair of spectacles as he peruses the myriad of documents in front of him. He starts with the interrogation, regarding the four of them with professional stoicism.

"Who is Josephine Montilyet?" He gives her a nod as she lowers her raised hand. "It says here you are 29 years of age and is from Antiva City. That's a long way from the Frostbacks. Would you mind telling me how you ended up inside a vault in the mountains?"

She swallows, bracing herself to respond. "I was working for an organization and one of my roles is to oversee our base not far from the Frostback Mountains."

"And how long have you been working for this organization?" The officer follows up while scribbling on an upturned document.

"A little over four years now."

"What is the nature of your organization that calls for you to operate on such an inaccessible place?"

"We are mainly focused on peacekeeping and making sure refugees are cared for." Josephine leans forward to the table. Her eyes are earnest as she feeds just the right information. _Thread the middle ground, Josie, that's what you're here for._

"Refugees, huh? Interesting. And what is the name of the organization?"

"Don't answer that." Leliana interjects from her left. Josephine can't say she's not thankful for the interruption.

Stymied by the interruption, the officer looks up with a frown, his pen pooling ink on the paper. He meets Leliana's cold gaze with an irritated frown. "Why the hell not?"

"It's not for you to know," Leliana responds.

"What's for me to know or not know is not for you to decide. And I'm not exactly talking to you," he retorts in equal measures of coldness as the one given him. He turns back to Josephine, prompting for an answer with raised eyebrows.

"She will not be answering that. Try again." Leliana insists from her side.

The officer lets out a sarcastic chuckle as he points his pen to Leliana. "Is she always _this_ grumpy? It's all the orange, isn't it? Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to get used to it."

That remark earned him a sharp look. Josephine and Cassandra watch as the two battle for dominance. They have been with this man for not even a half hour and yet he could so already push Leliana's buttons like it's nothing. All the while, Morrigan watches on with growing interest. A smirk ghosts over her lips as the man crawls under the spymaster's skin.

"And what makes you think I am so bothered by such trivial things?" The spymaster tries to deflect.

"The way you sit." He finally lets himself get sidetracked and puts the pen down.

"And what about it?" Leliana challenges, arms crossing in defense.

"You are full of confidence, as if you own the chair _and_ the man who built it. I surmise the last thing you want is for people to take you for a circus act." He pauses as Leliana sits straight, taut like a bow. "You know... flaming red hair, alabaster skin, _orange_ overalls. Tsk. So bright. Judging by your frown lines, I take it you don't like bright, cheery things." Morrigan's snort magnifies the tension in the room.

Leliana brushes off the blows with a smirk. "And I'd take it you know all there is to know about me in the minutes you've sat there?"

A long moment passes in which the officer studies the Nightingale who was supposed to be hard to read. The light from the windows makes his eyes dance, in contrast to the weight by which he regards her. "The bright light does not always burn. Sometimes it could also bring comfort."

A knock on the glass door marks the fragile impasse in the room. "Sir, permission to enter, sir!"

"Permission granted," the officer barely looked back, shrewd brown eyes trained on Leliana's sharp blue ones.

"Sir, thank you, sir!" The officer ushers two more of his colleagues as they balance four trays. They must have also felt the tension in the room, making quick work of laying down all the food. Josephine hears her stomach rumble as she eyes the spread. This must be a feast compared to nothing the past several days. There are sandwiches, milk, eggs, bacon, and toast.

"Help yourselves," the officer waves a hand to the trays, eyes never leaving Leliana.

"No, don't pick that up. It could be poisoned," Leliana challenges.

"Leliana!" Sometimes Josephine cannot believe just how much on the verge of paranoia her friend can get.

"Have it your way, then. I can assure you, though, that you'd be dreaming of these once you get back to whatever hole they keep you." The officer merely shrugs as he reaches out for the communication apparatus yet again. "Looks like our visitors aren't interested in breakfast. You can clear the table."

He keeps his eyes on the stubborn spymaster as two officers enter the room. They were just about to pick up the trays when Josephine speaks up, "Wait. Please. We are without food and rest for so many hours now. We will take our generosity where we can."

"Josephine, momentary pleasure is nothing compared to the threat they pose!" Leliana stresses out, arms crossing yet again in a defensive stance. Josephine can barely keep her eyes from rolling. _Just how far is she willing to drag us just to prove a point?_

"Threat? Weren't you the ones who tried to kill an officer thrice in one helicopter ride? _"_ The stare he gave the redhead couldn't be any more chilling. They remain silent as he continues, "But have it your way. Full stomach or empty, you _will_ answer my questions. Get settled, we have the entire day ahead of us."

He stands and starts picking up a tray himself. Josephine could only watch in remorse as he and the officers head towards the garbage bin in the corner of the room. He is the first officer to have offered them anything, starting with basic decency. Now Leliana is throwing the kindness back in his face due to her inability to concede an argument. She finds herself between wanting to throttle her friend and feeling heartbroken. In her distress she had long stopped masking her expression, staring openly at the food.

"It was a research expedition. My colleagues and I were accompanied by a group of four women and eight men. We are a fledgling organization struggling with funds and is in dire need of resources. It's been months that we have been looking for a bigger base. That's when we heard of a fortress along the pass between Orlais and Ferelden. We knew we had to go. But the way had been more perilous than expected. By the time we reached our destination, our supplies had already been severely depleted."

Josephine watches wide eyed as the words flowed from Leliana's calculating lips. Sometimes it still catches her off guard just how good her friend has become in lying through her teeth. But then again, if it would buy them a day or two, who is she to not cooperate? Her eyes leave Leliana to study the man pausing by the bin. He turns back towards the table, eyes not leaving her friend.

"Why just now?"

"A moment sooner or later and we're still captives. Does it matter?"

He skips his original seat to take the one directly in front of the spymaster's. "I doubt you were _that_ enticed by bacon and eggs." He places the tray on the table but keeps it close.

"Why fight what you can't avoid? This saves us both the trouble, yes?" Leliana quirks an eyebrow.

"What's your organization?" He hedges nearer, the humongous table between them notwithstanding.

"An organization interested in a place to grow." The spymaster prods to see how far she can go.

"What do I have to do to get a straight answer out of you?" The officer pushes back.

"A good start would be to stop tormenting my friends with spoiled food." At this point Josephine starts to wonder if Leliana will ever tire of this dance. She can feel Cassandra and Morrigan getting more impatient with every step.

"Sarcasm is a little unsettling coming from a woman so _orange_." The officer comes back equally calm and confident.

"Petulance is a little unbecoming for an officer, no? Aren't _chevaliers_ supposed to be dashing?" Leliana deflects the backhanded comeback with one of her own.

"Oh, I can be plenty dashing. Just not with people who try to take down service men. These men and women only wish to serve their country, and I will have their backs as they do so. How about you? Who has your backs? I am not sure what kind of _organization_ you're trying to protect, but it couldn't be one of the good ones. All it has ever taught you, it seems, is to make you watch your back for daggers in the shadows." He watches in satisfaction as Leliana visibly flinches.

He nudges the tray their way as he stands, gathering his papers and pen. He has one hand on the door when he turned back to face them. "Flooding in Lothering, the separatist movement in the Southern Korcari, Qunari terrorism. And yet here you four are, acting like we're a big bother when you can't even show your rescuers some decency. But it's good to know that we're the _threat._ "

That's when it dawned on Josephine. Perhaps coming out of the Eluvian when they did was far more complicated. She closes her eyes in sad understanding. All the while they had been thinking about themselves and never of others. Weren't they the Inquisition's leaders precisely because they wanted a better Thedas? She glances at Morrigan by her side and catches a look of mutual understanding.

"Officer, we do not mean to come across in that manner. Perhaps the weight of the situation has yet to settle." Josephine looks up to him, sincere in her every word.

"And hasn't that what the Crown Prince tried doing when he chose to _trust_ you? To help you get settled? He is the reason for the olive branch when it's my duty from a legal standpoint to tell my superiors to lock you up. So you can mock and sass all you want but like it or not, we two are your only friends around here. And to think you almost killed him on the same week his brother returns to us." The officer's pointed response turned sharper as he notices Cassandra's startled look. Her eyes dance with shock and guilt as she leans back dejected into her seat. "Think about that, will you? Think about the mockery you're making of all this. Think about how you've almost left this country without a future king."

He has just stepped across the doorway when Cassandra stood up. "Wait!"

The officer looks back at her with an expectant look.

"I'm… I'm ready to cooperate, sir."


	4. Chapter 3: And In He Swoops

**Chapter 3: And In He Swoops**

"Are all Non-Disclosure Agreements in? Once again, under no circumstances are you allowed to talk about the project beyond this hall. Leak so much as a drop of information, and you may as well walk away."

For a handful of seconds, the only sound in the room comes from the papers that the senior researcher is evening out. Heavy in their weight, in that they will sway which direction their careers go. This project is big time, no doubt about that. It's reflected in the way the 30-odd faces hold determined to prove they belong. 30-strong delegation of the brightest and the most promising Thedas could offer.

It won't do to be shown the door. Not on the first day, most especially. If the hall's lofty marble columns are any indication, it's a barometer of how high their careers can go. Finally, the researcher is placing the last of the metal paper clips. The herd snaps to attention, taller and straining in anticipation. The woman at the head of this glittering, shining pack smirks. She's seen it all before. Waves after waves of bright eyed geniuses getting set to jump out of the books to save Thedas and the World.

"Very well. With me," for someone at 4ft, the senior researcher has a way of owning a room. Mimi, she so casually introduces herself when she first walked in. Only _Mimi_ is a renowned Osteo-Archaeologist from Orzammar specializing on DNA and genome. She steps off the platform and leads the way like a Mother Hen. Only these chicks are the creme de la creme. She knows well enough that this is the arena and behind her are trained specialists as vicious as the warriors of yore, lab coats and all.

And so they sweep through towering pillars, past portraits of scientists and philosophers. Every frame represents a milestone, landmarks that make Thedas' history all the more colorful. The pristine marble floor leads them all the way to the atrium, to the very culmination of Thedosian Renaissance. Everywhere they look legends past and present coalesce into a special blend of intellectual greatness. Their steps echo all the way to the glistening glass dome overhead and they find themselves right into the thick of living, breathing academia gods whose faces they've only seen in books.

The sheer radiance of the place is impossible to dull even a bit as it stands tall and graceful in an aura of brilliance, three storeys brimming with lecture rooms and libraries. Simple yet elegant white finish bursts to life where touched by sunlight and curved glass panels embrace the atrium's ground level from ceiling to floor. They provide 360 degrees view onto volumes upon volumes of books, complete with sleek white tables and clean cut couches. Furniture for the mind and the body, catering to only the best. It's easy to forget that the facility is not for students. In their place, researchers and fellows are sprawled along rows of bookshelves and tables, left to hunt in their purest form.

In the middle of it all is a statue of a wise monarch, crowned only with golden rays from above. She wears no mask and is instead surrounded by tomes and scrolls. A homage to the times when it took the nation's ruler to stand up for all students and a myriad of disciplines. Forevermore she serves as the very heart, and namesake, of the University's most revered research facility. Her legacy is etched at the base of her elaborate throne:

 _The Empress Celene Valmont Institute._

Someone in the group takes a deep breath. Whether the air in this building is rarefied in the lungs or in the mind doesn't really matter. In the University of Orlais, and Thedosian academia for that matter, this is sacred ground. Scholars all over the world would kill for a spot in this institute. _The_ Institute.

The group progresses to the other end of the atrium and enters another hallway. Soon enough they leave the glass walls for the Institute's more secluded portion. Silence once again descends upon them, growing thicker as they walk farther from the building's beating heart. Their footsteps become more pronounced as they glance upon more frames of past Thedosian greats. One in particular caught a few pairs of eyes in that it doesn't feature a famous face, rather a quote framed by a pair of stone ruins.

"This world is full of wonders for those who seek them." – A wise elf

"Oh my gods, this is it!" The assortment of PhD candidates, architects, and archaeologists exchange looks, bursting in excitement. Suddenly the composed professionals from a minute ago have turned to giddy pupils being shown the computer lab for the first time. Before them, Mimi steps closer to a metal door nestled between another pair of pillars. After a handful of seconds of buzzing, she effectively shushes them to silence as she punches in the passcode. Before she allows entry, however, she makes sure to give them last minute advice,

"It would help to keep your jaws locked shut and from time to time pinch yourselves under the table. Sure worked for me this morning." She tops it with an enigmatic grin before sweeping the metal door wide open. What they find waiting on the other side sure makes for a good test in following directions.

They trickle in expecting a room similar to the one they came from. Instead, their eyes are welcomed by an amphitheater three storeys high. A group of middle-aged PhD candidates who had been teary eyed seeing Celene's shrine is now openly sniffing. There's a gasp from a trio of Archaeology postgrads, and an Architecture fellow's whistle has all but echoed in the room.

Decked in all whites, same as the rest of the building, the room comes alive with sunlight pouring from high above. Looking up they see that one of the walls is outfitted with clean cut glass windows. The vaulted ceiling is abundant with recess lights throughout its 40sq meter span. At its very end, another wall stands tall. There's another whistle as somebody realizes that its lower portion serves as a display panel, almost like a hologram. It's lit up with ten digital screens all throughout, some bigger than others. From where they stand at the rear section they see that all features an assortment of maps, photos of artifacts, and video feeds. One of them reaches for his mobile phone, no doubt to gloat, only to remember it has been collected and taken away. "Shit!"

"Gang, anytime this year if it's possible?" They hadn't realized that Mimi has already marched halfway through the room—no, theater. Not wasting another second, they make their way through mazes of long desks and chairs. Everywhere their eyes land is white and clean. And well-designed. It's clear all non-essentials has been disregarded to allow for maximum use of the facility. No frills, no fuss, just your best. Every single time you enter the room.

"The _Prince Etienne Wing_ has five more lecture halls, although the rest are not as big as this one. The interdisciplinary study lounges are available Monday to Sunday for fellows and researchers. Those would be the shining, shimmering ones we've passed going here. There's also a cafeteria for socials and eating. Read: free breakfast and lunch for fellows. Yes, as of today that includes you. Finally, the manuscript library is located on the second floor of the East wing. Should you have any need for archived volumes in that library, just approach me and we'll write you a requisition. Professor! Good afternoon!" The senior researcher greets a man clad in black who's patiently watching the group the entire time.

"What—"

"Ladies and gentlemen," she interjects with narrowed eyes. Instantly the entire throng is reminded of her last-minute words of wisdom. "This is the project's lead professor. He will be taking over for Dr. Eris as they both focus on field archaeology. He graduated from the University of Orlais reading Philosophy, Psychology, and Sociology. Those were then followed with Masters in History and Cultural Anthropology from the University of Markham. The previous seven years he has spent on the field all over the world and, as of this week, is our newest senior research fellow at 29 years old. People, Professor Henry Valmont."

The senior researcher's introduction barely registered among slack jaws and wide eyes. In their absorption with the larger than life lecture hall, none of them had noticed the muted young man at the head of it all. Yet, here he is. Almost invisible in his open black cardigan, grey shirt, and dark jeans. He sits ever so casual on a stool, his slender fingers toying with the edges of a manila folder. They can tell he is trying to blend in, but he can only do so much with his piercing green eyes and graceful presence making a strong statement. None thought it possible, but within a minute of Mimi's introduction the magnificent hall is all but eclipsed by the star power of the surprise guest.

"I need to sit." It's one of the History postgrad students. She glances back and is met with an amused half-smile from Professor Valmont. An "eep" manages to roll out just as she is sitting down.

"Good afternoon, everyone." Sonorous baritone voice dominates throughout and the group can't help but watch Professor Valmont's every move. His high cheekbones complement an aquiline and delicate nose; features that become otherworldly as the afternoon sun shines upon him. The young professor stands to his full 6'2", thinking of what to say as his red luscious lower lip comes to life, trying to find a rhythm. After a couple more minutes his jaw goes firm, though not as strong and square. It's such an interesting contrast at 29 years in that it gives him a boyish vulnerability, especially with his unkempt black hair falling all over his forehead. Still, he commands the room with his electric green eyes that feels like they've been around for a hundred years.

"This first meeting is only tainted by the many losses that had paved the way for all of us to be picked for this project. Daunting as it may be as it is abrupt, let us take this opportunity to rise up. Let us rise to the challenge for our fallen colleagues. Let us give our best—and more, so that we may be able to shed light upon these hidden truths. Upon our shared heritage. More importantly, let us give our best so that we may be worthy of the shoes that we have to fill. Let us not lose sight of the fact that, in this project, history and its significance will be our guide." Professor Valmont's weighted words land with added authority with his cut-glass accent. He glides towards the whiteboard and with elegant fingers proceeds to write:

HI **STORY** **SIGN** IFICANCE

"Beyond the status quo, the convention, let us try to focus on the story behind these treasures. Let us try to focus on what they signify so that we may be able to realize their value in the scheme of things. Only then can we fulfill our calling and succeed in our mission. And that is to place them in their rightful places in our culture and history."

He replaces the cap on the marker and plays with it as he gestures with his free hand to the vacant seats. "Let's start, shall we? Please take a seat and Mimi will bring you up to speed."

"Alright, settle down," the diminutive researcher takes the floor, facing the wall screen. She browses through the smaller, overlapping screens and stops at an image of a painting. Another minute passes by as she waits for the shuffling and scraping of chairs to die down. "Is anyone familiar with the legend of Skyhold?"

At her words the entire congregation perks up. A couple of hands from the Architecture bunch shoots up the air. "It's the fabled site of the Siege of Skyhold! From what we've seen in class before, the ramparts are of traditional Thedosian design. The enigma starts with the castle, however, being that it's said to be an assortment of Dalish, Dwarven, Fereldan, and tribal designs. That is the reason why no one has pinpointed a definite origin story for it, architecture-wise."

"To add, no one has been able to trace it all the way back to its first owner." The same History postgrad from earlier pauses to sneak a glance at the professor, who is sat again at his corner stool with his arms crossed. He tries to urge her on with a smile and a nod. With a smile, she faces the rest of the hall. "It doesn't help either that the fortress lies just a tad out of reach of both Orlais and Ferelden. So there was no record of which noble commissioned it. One noble family did live there at one point but given the location, the setup wasn't just as sustainable."

"Okay, I think I'm gonna call you Hermione and Buffy from now on." Mimi nods her head as she shuffles through photos upon photos of assorted landmarks. Her frenzied search slows down just as the chuckles die out, "There."

She faces the group with a triumphant smile. It then evolves into a smug grin upon seeing the photo's effect. Thick silence has shrouded the room, with a sprinkling of open mouths. A pair from the History cluster has all but stood up and one from Archaeology has fallen out of his chair.

"Holy moly..."

"My word. Is that—"

"Shangri-La!" It's an impressive feat that the archaeologist had his eyes glued on the screen the entire time, even as he picks himself up from the floor.

"Close enough, close enough." The senior researcher picks out another picture and positions it side by side the painting and the first photo. In his corner, Professor Valmont is all eyes and ears, his green eyes ever intense as he observes the group. Thin brown eyebrows emerge from his disheveled side-swept fringe, meeting in a thoughtful frown.

Back in the fray, a couple of Architecture experts has resorted to paper and pen in the absence of their camera phones. The image of the medieval painting is common enough, a regular sight in textbooks. The first and second photos, however, are archaeological breakthroughs all on their own.

The fact that they are isolated from the rest of the Institute, separated by a digital metal door, makes the silence even heavier. They exchange glances just as the gravity of the situation starts to sink in. The total blackout, the rigorous screening, and the fact that the University has managed to get a prodigious talent on board? This is earth shattering stuff. Once in a generation—no, once in a millennium discovery!

Taken from most likely a drone, the first image features a great stone wall enclosing a multilevel courtyard. The snow and ice can only do so much in entirely concealing the trauma that befell the ramparts. Parts of the East and West walls have collapsed and one of the towers in the North wall has a gaping hole in it. Marks from catapults are everywhere, too, so much so that it's a feature also shared with the second photo. The difference, however, is that whereas the first photo was taken from the north, the second was taken from the south.

If the group already thought the first photo a visual feast, then they're halfway to losing their minds over the second. Clues lay abound everywhere their eyes land that even 30 pairs are having a hard time keeping up.

"Is that an entire interior wall that caved in? Just look at that! How is that hall still stable?" One of the sketchers from Architecture is up on his feet. He looks about two seconds away from jumping the long table.

"Forget about the hall, look at that undercroft!" Another Architecture expert has already beaten his group mate, making his way to the front in a heartbeat.

"That waterfall may just hold the answer with regards fresh water supply for the inhabitants, too." Not to be outdone, one from Archaeology has reached the display panel as well, trying to get a better view of a back hallway.

"Waterfalls. It looks like an entire prison was built over one on this side right here." Hermione is proving true to her new nickname, separating herself from the growing gaggle.

"Good heavens! Look at the Great Hall!"

"What used to be the great hall. And the inner courtyard looks like it's been smashed pretty good as well!"

"I think I need to sit down," It's Buffy yet again. She reaches for her bag, taking out a copy of _The Rise and Fall of The Dragon Age._

"I think you all need to sit down or sightseeing is over," an exasperated Mimi interjects. It takes half a minute for her laser eyes to take effect on more than half of the group that by now has obscured the images for everyone else. "Ladies and gentlemen," she glances over the professor for the go signal. The senior researcher nods in determination as she receives one.

"We have reason to believe that after 1,000 years of searching, we have finally found Skyhold."

* * *

It's been days since they had been taken to Jader. To say that it has been an intense series of events would be an understatement. Under typical circumstances, she would have observed restraint and calculate a plan. But it hasn't been a typical night. And theirs hasn't been a typical ordeal.

Everyone they know are dead… lost. They may have survived Solas' attack but she wasn't sure whether the situation they are in now is any better. They have talked about it in the nights that had followed but until now they still are not certain which is real. Doubts remain as to how _exactly_ the Eluvian crossroads have been affected and how they have come upon this other world. Because it _has_ to be another world. There is simply no other explanation for it.

From escaping arcane fireballs, they have stumbled upon a world with flying vessels, horseless carriages, and a myriad of other advancements that are beyond imaginings in the Thedas they had left behind.

"It does not sit well that you are far away from your home. For you this place brings nothing but futility. Despair. Fatal ends."

In her preoccupation Leliana did not even hear the woman until she is by the table behind her. "Sorry, this is hardly the time for conjectures," she points her button nose upwards as she turns her head towards the window high above. "I suppose this is far more urgent than being out there, hm?"

"Your song is old and painful, but seeing you now I know there is still light. The Nightingale yearns for an ending to her song but the chains won't let her. Cold and ruthless and painful she embraces them even when it hurts. Yet she withstands bondage because she wants to forget the flower that blooms." Leliana tenses upon hearing that name. _Her_ name.

"Her wings remain as strong as ever but she fears of falling. Falling is a long way down, terrifying when you're alone and there's nobody to keep you from the solid ground." If barging in on her solo interrogation was meant to calm the spymaster down, then it sorely backfired.

Leliana finally gives in and tears her ice cold blue eyes from the window. Sat in front of her is a middle aged woman, her brunette hair up in a bun. She's the image of calmness with her hands clasped together on the table. Leliana remains frigid in place. She felt the minutes trickle by. Throughout their staring match she says nothing, intent in keeping her guard up. Still the woman meets Leliana's icy blue with calm, bottomless hazel eyes.

"I don't have to read your mind to know. It's all in your face. Your eyes give you away especially when you think of her. Like a love lost. A last chance wasted. But to love is never a waste. You don't have to give up on your heart. Flowers bloom all the time but not all of them can get to sprout at the right bush or maybe the sun is not warm enough or maybe it just isn't the right time," the woman rushes to add, like the words would slip away from her fingers if she holds on a moment too long. By now the friendly smile is but a trace and her green-tinted eyes spill out intense curiosity. Something the elusive Nightingale doesn't appreciate. Her body tenses, wanting to repel the intrusion. No one has ever really dared confronting her before. Not like this.

"And this makes you privy to my personal feelings?" Leliana is determined to keep it short. _Give her nothing more and she will go away. Eventually they will all tire._ Leliana regards her with a cold gaze, eyes narrowing with calculation. And yet, something about her words penetrates, making her unable to look away. Finally she decides on keeping busy with her orange slippers and starts tapping her foot against the table.

"She was a noble one. But she was not it. Nor was the one before her. They were not the lone rose in the bush. Full of promise, full of love, but sometimes it's all in the seed if it would push through the hostilities. It has to want to push through. For you. It has to be for you. Because it is _your_ rose and it revealed itself to you, didn't it? It grows only for you." The woman tilts her head to the side, trying to see more of her.

Her words are meant to strike deep and Leliana sees them for what they are. She looks up to her with a stare that's daring her to go further if she cares for nothing else. The semi darkness and biting cold of the isolation room embrace her. She opens her palms to let in more of the cold. More for the numbness.

 _At this point, if the soldiers don't get them for the prince then she would happily spare them the hesitation by taking down this annoying blabbermouth._

The woman gives her a small smile as she catches a glimpse of Leliana's outstretched hands. "You have grown accustomed to it, thinking it helps to drive away the dreams. It's a new skin, worn for function, but does it really work? It fits well and it moves well but sometimes it becomes too tight and there's no space to move, there's no space to breathe. It twists tighter and tighter and it hurts. The new skin tightens and it hurts _to feel_. Drown it, bury it, hide it away… you make it stop, but it still hurts!" The woman embraces her own arms and Leliana notices her shivering with heavy breaths. Finally. Leliana thought she was the only one that feels the chill in the air.

"Tell me, since I have been so _open_ , what else do I need to know? Clearly you have everything mapped out." Leliana hedges closer to the table, restraining her shaking, handcuffed hands on the side. She's teetering on the edge, and all it takes, she feels, are two more seconds with this woman before she topples the table over.

"This world brings nothing but grief. The Maker gives and He takes away. The sweeter the gift, the harsher the price. Fools find solace in it not knowing the cost. Perhaps they don't even care. But I know better. I should know better now. The rose has wilted. There is no hope for it now," she finishes with a sweet voice. Yet, all the woman's attention is on the table that has started shaking. Leliana notices and looks down to see that her own hands are starting to turn a painful white.

"I felt your pain. I heard your song. A sad song. But there is hope. You must keep faith. You must not let yourself become what you fear. Keep faith in the way all of them has fallen short for you. This is not the end and somewhere deep inside, a part of you knows this, too. It's buried under all the grief and is sleeping comfortable in the cold but it will awaken. And when it does it will be shining brightly, free, light, and loved." The woman gives her a small smile and that's all it takes for Leliana to lunge forward.

And yet, she remains in place.

Cool and collecting her wits with a breath that threatens to hurt her chest. She savors its grasp on her heart as it keeps it from beating again. The chilling air cools down the unshed tears a couple of degrees yet she fights with a fiery smirk,

"I'm a veteran of the Fifth Blight. The Left Hand of the Divine. The Nightingale of the Imperial Court. The Spymaster of the Inquisition. I've conquered everything. I have nothing to fear."

All the woman has for an answer was a tender half smile, understanding and accepting. Leliana feels naked in the cool air. She keeps building walls but all she feels is frayed. _And betrayed._

 _No!_

The woman watches as the table wobbles violently. As Leliana sways backwards to the metal chair she gives the final blow,

"That's it. You can do it. _Just let go_."

Everything around Leliana fades out save for the gentle click of the door. In the semi darkness she looks for a way out—anything, anywhere but here. She needs to get out of her own mind. She shakes in desperation and all it does is make her curl to herself some more.


	5. Chapter 4: Time and Space

**Inverness:** Thanks! I hope you like this new chapter! Things are just starting to heat up!

 **Chapter 4: Time and Space**

It's been close to a week and day after day it's been the same scene for Mimi. Check for her boss at his office only to find it empty save for a walnut desk, an orb-like artifact, and haphazardly erected books. Creep all over the Prince Etienne Wing like an intern on her first day as she searches for him. End up on the barren garden at the very end of the wing whose only visitor has been a black haired Adonis in cardigan. Stare at said black haired Adonis in cardigan as he sits serene with his eyes closed, all the while hedging between bolting or be the awkward disturber of the peace. She admits, it's far too much walking for someone with short legs.

Finally after a handful of minutes, Mimi detects movement as his head, quite alarmingly for her, sways her direction.

"You're hovering, Mimi." Professor Valmont greets her with perfectly conscious green eyes, his left eyebrow quirked in expectation.

"Good morning, Professor." She pauses to answer his polite nod with one of her own. "The retrieved materials are ready."

"Brilliant. Thank you for setting it up." He dips his head before sweeping out of the enclosure. "Any other updates?"

"All items have already been transferred to our safekeeping in cooperation with the Orlesian rangers. I made sure to send them a letter of thanks in behalf of the team and the department." Mimi looks up to the towering man as he nods along, concern etched in his furrowed eyebrows. In all the mornings that they do this unofficial routine, she can't skip over the way he keeps his strides as compact as possible. She appreciates how he gets with it subtly.

" _Bien_. And what have we got thus far?" The professor keeps his head bowed, his voice in that ever considerate level. It's either he's too shy or he's outright avoiding unnecessary attention. Mimi hasn't quite pinpointed that part yet.

"Well, I've put Hermione, Buffy, and two others from History to sort out all the boxes. That was three hours ago so hopefully they have something new when we get back." It took her a while to notice, but as soon as they made their way to the lecture hall, the rest of the people have begun to thin out. The corridors are clear and not even the faintest sound can be heard. Even her footsteps are suddenly muted, and that's saying a lot.

"And how is your morning with our special guest?" He finally looks at her, which, if she's being honest, she isn't sure whether she appreciates or not. It was soon made clear to the group that their at times silent team leader possesses quite the double edged sword. At one side he is a natural charmer who would often make you feel like the most important person in the room, sparkling eyes and all. On the flipside, he can bore down on you with the focus of a hundred eagles, often with a feeling that he can see right through your soul. The hair at the back of her neck jumps straight at the thought. She gathers her bearings and braves the onslaught of forest green staring at her.

"We made a leap, one that would start us to a three-fold path. John Doe is one mysterious guy—no tracks, no clues, not even an engraved locket from a girlfriend. He's really living up to his name right now. But I think I've figured out how to crack his code." She takes the plunge and before she knows it, all the nerves have settled. It will never stop blowing her mind how she gets to do the thing she loves and gets paid for it!

"DNA." Professor Valmont catches the shift in her tone and rides along, his lips quirked up in amusement. His eyes follow suit, sparkling up as she taps the tip of her nose twice.

"You know it! But it's tricky! And so I've extracted three types: his mitochondrial DNA, his Y chromosome, and some puzzle pieces to tell us about his characteristics. Hair color, eye color, things like that." She pauses as they face the metal door and reaches for something in a side locker.

"But the thing I've started with is carbon dating. We first need to determine at which point in Skyhold's history did John Doe stay in the fortress. I've extracted two samples and sent it to two carbon dating centers. One is at Markham and the other is the University's own. We should be expecting results in a couple of days." Mimi doesn't skip a beat as she hands the professor a lab coat and a box of gloves.

"Great call. We need to be efficient with our time and resources. Having two tests independent of each other would give more confidence on the results. We should also do a CT scan for John Doe to better outline his injuries." The professor blurts out a rundown of the impending afternoon's to-do's as he puts on his lab coat, elegant fingers lining down unruly collars. The man can wrap himself in a blanket and he still would be a main draw at the Val Royeaux Fashion Week.

"Right! One CT coming up! And I'll also have to check on Dads in case something's cooking over at History." She makes a mental note to approach the middle-aged PhD candidate as soon as they go inside. It has been a landslide for the man when the groups voted for team leaders back in their first afternoon.

 _"A father hen, but squishier!"_ Buffy totally didn't make sense but all of them in History agreed regardless.

She pulls out of her reverie only to drop in the middle of an awkward pause. A beat and she recognizes. The door hasn't been opened yet. She gives the tall Adonis a questioning side nod. What she sees, however, confounds her about the man even more.

He has been standing in silence, biting his red puffy lower lip for words. Finally, he seems to have taken hold of a bunch. "Well, you see, I may have forgotten my card in the office." He has enough dignity and pride left to not look her in the eye, focusing on the door all the while fighting an honest to gods blush.

Mimi snorts and pulls hers out of her lab coat pocket. Her steps dissolve the thickening awkwardness only for it to creep back with the sounds of the keypad. _Photographic memory and somehow forgets his ID card. Maybe I should run you through the CT scan, too!_

"Thank you," She hears behind her as the door swings open. She would have relished responding, too, but her attention was stolen by the racket that greeted them.

"You can't be serious when you say that we should carbon date bricks and boulders to separate what's native to Skyhold and what isn't!"

"And you can't carbon date rocks."

"Whoa whoa. Can we just focus on drying out these books first before moving on to looking under rocks?"

"Given that he's an archaeologist, of course his answer for everything is to literally look under rocks."

Mimi takes in the scene from her place beside the professor. She could almost touch the thickening tension as members of the three groups face off from their tables. No doubt it's been a rough first week for them, what with the amount of workload they have been anticipating. By the third day many in the group are already pulling all-nighters; even she and Professor Valmont had been clocking in 16-hour work days in previous days. As Day 5 rolls in, almost everyone is running on fumes. No one wants to be the only loser who needs a nap when everyone else is putting in long hours. This is an arena, after all, and these are battle hardened elites in lab coats.

"I left you getting started with this topic. Are you seriously pushing to an hour talking about _rocks_?" Mimi interjects with a straight face.

"Finally someone says it!" Groans waft through the lecture hall as the groups take a break from the back and forth salvo. Dads shakes the stress away and makes a beeline towards a heap of Box o' Joes. Mimi fights a groan when she sees that the coffee is almost gone and it's only 10am. She had them delivered at 8am.

"Alright. To recap: we have been discussing the possibility of armies bringing along catapult ammunition. Walden linked it to the Battle at Emprise du Lion but we all know since the fifth grade that the Siege of Skyhold took place before the battle." Hermione rolls her eyes, immune to the narrowed ones Walden from Archaeology is aiming at her.

"So there's no chance whatsoever that some of the rocks up there weren't from, well, there?" The archaeologist crosses his arms in challenge.

"If you wouldn't resort to stretching basic facts on the distance of Emprise to Skyhold, I may just engage you on _yet another_ discussion." Hermione huffs at the Archaeology section's way.

"Very well. So how are we going to start determining which are actual facts, hm?"

"WE DRY OUT THESE BOOKS FIRST!" Hermione just about had it. Walden raises his hands in surrender as another round of exasperated groans bounce up the walls.

"Now, now." Everybody perks up as a baritone voice embraces the group. They aim their attention to the front where Professor Valmont stands with his arms crossed. "It's not like Walden's thought process isn't without merit. At the same time, historical points are there for a reason. So let's use them wisely."

The group watches him pace, head bowed as usual in contemplation. He stops in front of the wall display panel and enlarges a front view of the mythic fortress. "A big part of Skyhold's mystique is its curious location. Usually fortresses are built for two purposes: maximize resources of an area through commerce and protect said resources from attacks. Anyone who can spot the difference? Dads?"

"It's nowhere near a center of commerce or even a trade route." The burly Historian calls out from his place between two stacks of coffee boxes.

The professor's lips spread to a smile. "And so from there we could begin tracing back. This is important, people: if we cannot agree on the _what_ and the _how_ , then we must therefore acknowledge the _why_ , yes?" He pauses to take in the strained nods in the room before proceeding, "Time is _always_ of the essence. This group is far too brilliant to allow itself regular pitfalls. If one road is blocked, we must find another."

Mimi finds herself nodding along as she watches the previously bickering group mellow down. All the while Professor Valmont paces with hands on his back, fingers toying with a marker. He finally stops by the Archaeology table and gives the group his undiluted focus. "And rocks are every bit as important, because what are we looking at right now?"

"Basically, a pile of rocks. On top of a mountain," one of them wisecracks and instantly freezes in his seat when he realizes what he has said. He looks up to their boss with a deer in the headlights look.

"Exactly right!" The awkwardness is defused with a clear and light laugh from their lead professor. It seems to have lifted some of the tension as well as it reverberates all the way up to the tall ceilings. The professor then turns to the History table, still with a soft smile and twinkle in his eyes. "But again, we must not lose sight of the fact that Skyhold is unusual. And so it follows that the methods in building it, the story behind it, are also unusual. Would you agree?"

"Yes, professor." The History table answers in unison as they give each other looks and shrugs that imply they have not considered this angle before. Usually, the answers would be in written records and local legends.

From there Mimi looks back to this young professor who is oh so subtly steering his herd to the right path, hopefully away from wringing each other's necks. He seems oblivious to the effect he's having on the group, unassuming cream V-neck cardigan and all. _Or is he?_ He catches her gaze just as he is making his way to the Architecture table.

"As builders, what would you do when faced with limited resources?"

"Make up for it wherever we can. The only priority is to finish the project."

"Simply put, pick up random stones if you have to?" The professor follows up with a suggestive arch of the eyebrows.

It's simple and yet the effect is clear. What used to be a wound up group of accomplished architects is now chuckling with the professor, who shares in the moment with a wry half smile. Mimi swears, he would have made quite a diplomat just a stone's throw away at Val Royeaux. She can only conceal a knowing smile with a disbelieving headshake.

"And it just as well translates to the identity of the structure, yes? When we think of the philosophy behind building a structure, I'd like to think that the essence of the materials—every morsel of rock and every angle of the chisel, becomes a part of said structure's identity. They culminate into a new essence. Because yes, building and construction have a philosophy as well." The professor paces back to the front and along the way tilts his head towards the Archaeology and Architecture tables, "Isn't that right?"

The two groups could not be more delighted of this and it shows in their emphatic answer, "Yes, sir!"

Mimi isn't even sure she's heard of Architectural Philosophy before. She thought it's just building from the ground up and moving on to the next one. The fact that their senior fellow just acknowledged it went a long way, she can tell. Even the History group has a new level of curiosity about them. And right on time, Professor Valmont snaps and points toward their table,

"And that's where you come in. On our first day you said that Skyhold has yet to have a definitive origins story. No one has been able to pinpoint one due to the eclectic mix of styles. I truly believe this is why you were chosen for this. Because in order to be historical, we must first do historic things. Things that had never been done nor accomplished before." He regards each member of the History group with a firm and challenging nod, his green eyes darker with intensity. "Are you ready to defy 1,000 years of track record?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Let's go!"

"YEAAHHH!" Dad's resounding answer booms all the way up the ceilings. He has his hands up in the air, coffee sloshing from his cup. Mimi makes a mental note to track Dad's and the rest of the group's caffeine intake for the rest of the day.

Clearly it was the right words to say. To all the groups. After all, these aren't some pushover summer interns. These are the best that the University has to offer. The elite talents of their fields. She can't believe how natural it was for this usually reserved and quiet young man to dance around eggshells.

Egotistical and _highly caffeinated_ eggshells. Each and every one.

Going by the renewed buzzing in the room, it's looking like crisis has just been averted. Just like that, everyone's attention is now on planning a new modus of approach.

Seeing this, the twinkle in the Professor's eyes is back and it lightens up his sincere expression even more. He nods to the room and with raised eyebrows gives directives towards the group's new path, "I like the direction you're going with taking the surroundings in question, Archaeology. Let's try to find out just _how_ they were able to transport materials to that part of the Frostbacks. Was it summer when they started construction? If so, let's take a look at caves and tunnels that could be easily overlooked during the river's high tide. Let's trace every beaten down path to see where they lead."

"Say, I know it's quite a-ways from Orzammar but it's still worth looking into." A guy from Archaeology looks around his group and is met with a couple of nods. If they are looking into tunnels, where's the best one to start than the greatest of them all? The ancient underground Dwarf kingdom of Orzammar.

"But isn't Orzammar already scaled down during the Second Inquisition's formation?" A female group member answers.

"That is true. But suppose Skyhold was constructed much earlier than that?" A third one offers and nods back when the rest of the group perks up at the idea. He smiles when he sees the professor nodding along as well.

"Mimi, don't we have samples of tile and floor work?" The professor zeroes in on her, moving on from the Archaeology table. She nods as she calls back by the door, "Yes, Professor. They came with construction materials, too. Chisels, hammers, axes."

"Brilliant! Architects, let's start from there. If we could trace back the tools' origins then perhaps we could match them with the corresponding building style." There's a collective nod just as the group is busying away in their laptops and notebooks. Some are already getting started with 3D renders.

"History, I do believe we needed to go through the items inventory. What have we got?"

"Yes, sir. So far this morning we have gathered assorted documents—we have journals, letters, encrypted briefings, and a couple of damaged hard drives from the blast." Dads recites from a list that Hermione handed over.

"Damaged hard drives, you say? I could help with that if needed!" One of the architects looks up from his 3D model.

"And us. If there's anything saved in those drives, artifacts and excavation photos would be on top of the list." Another from Archaeology breaks away from the huddled group and raises his hand.

"Great job volunteering, you guys! Hey Brighton, why don't you and James set up over there by the wall outlets?" Mimi calls out to the architect, pointing with her thumb at the left wall.

"We're on it, Mimi!" Without preamble, the two jog around, swerving around tables with arms filled with laptops and the damaged hard drives.

"Mimi, can I join them to work on the inventory?" Mimi meets Buffy's expectant round eyes and gives her a nod,

"Good idea. Go, fly and be free."

* * *

"Sir, is this a good time for the daily report?"

Chief of Staff Ian Olafson peers up through his half spectacles, a folder suspended upon his hands. For the first time that afternoon he tears his attention away from his mahogany desk only to find his office's cream paneling soaked in the setting sun's dark red and orange. He rubs his forehead as he looks up to the man at the door. Whatever snappy remark he has is held back by the fact that it is the _head_ of Household Intelligence himself who is giving him the day's report.

"Talk me through it, Major."

The man nods and closes the double oak doors behind him. Ian braces himself just as the officer reveals yet another folder from his back. "We have yet to locate the Crown Prince since he was last spotted leaving Jader seven days ago," the Major fills him in with all the words he most certainly does not want to hear at nine in the evening, nor at any other time.

"Seven days," Ian taps his watch for a moment. The delicate sound cuts through the thickening silence like razor. Seven days. One future king. Infinite possibilities. The officer standing before him must have perceived his thoughts and returns his steely gaze. Finally, he tucks the watch back under his bespoke Antivan suit. His eyes tighten on the mountain of classified briefings that has invaded his week.

"We need to come up with much better than that, Major. We can't have the heir to the throne go off the grid for seven whole days. Have we tried looking off continent?"

"There simply aren't many options for him outside Thedas. All it takes is one tweet about him in an airport lounge somewhere and the international media will be on him like flies. He knows this—"

"And that's all it takes for us to be hounded, too. Which is why we must get to him first before anyone else. When word leaks out that he's been AWOL then it won't take too much for the media and the people to put 2 and 2 together." Ian gathers himself, taking a brief reprieve as he watches the last slivers of sunlight through one of the arched windows.

Beyond the reaches of the royal palace, the city of Denerim prepares for the second half of a day that never really ends. All around them skyscrapers and thoroughfares come to life with lights spreading in all directions. For another moment he contents himself with the priceless city view that makes all of it bearable.

"We should have never agreed to send him to missions without his protection officers. It was a close call, Ian." Ian finds himself nodding in agreement. He motions for the officer to sit in one of the two vacant mahogany chairs before him, now that the formal portion of the daily updates are done.

"Four women against _three_ highly trained military men. And going by the lead pilot's report, they were supposed to had been locked in a metal vault for an unknown stretch of time without food and water." He shakes off the image of a lifeless prince. The very prince that has been put in his charge since he accepted the job almost 12 years ago. He fights down a cringe. They must get to Prince Nikolai at the soonest possible time!

"The perpetrators remain under strict monitoring." The officer pauses before deciding to go further, "I wager it was adrenaline. Still, the weapons retrieved from them… they're otherworldly, to say the least."

At the officer's word Ian starts sifting through the photos of evidences submitted to him through the week. A longsword. A pair of daggers. An ornate walking staff that, according to the paramedic aboard, he could have sworn to have melted the plexiglass window.

"The DNA and blood tests have already come back as well. It's the real reason why I'm here."

That made Ian tear his eyes from the images. They remain silent, no doubt gauging each other before venturing forth.

An explosion deep in uncharted Frostbacks.

A long lost fortress believed to only exist in legends.

Four women emerging from a long abandoned metal vault.

The disappearance of Ferelden's Crown Prince.

It has been one bizarre event on top of another these past five days. Events that are fast becoming a potent mix that the entire Royal Household would rather not have at the moment. Not when border disputes throughout the continent have been causing tension. The last thing they need, that Ferelden needs, is for all this to trigger a domino effect of sorts. After a few seconds he presses on, "No big movements, Major. You know how the media has eyes and ears everywhere nowadays. Has His Majesty been informed already?"

A nod and then, "The Lord Chamberlain is with him now as we speak."

He lets the information sink in as he looks over these mysterious women's profiles. They may had been subjected through difficult situations for who knows how long, but there's no denying it—their complexion, their posture, their eyes, these are individuals who are far from regular. There's no mistaking the air and aura about them which are not too different from the envoys and courtiers he passes behind Palace walls. He can almost see it in his mind's eyes, _high stakes poker to start the day and then vintage wines to cap the night. What lovely masks they all seem to wear._

He fights a smirk until a sudden realization wipes it from his face. _These people have played The Game._

"I knew you'd catch up fast enough," the officer meets his eyes with knowing ones of his own and proceeds without missing a beat, "here are the results."

The Major lifts a folder from his poised, crossed legs and slides it across his desk. This one is thicker than usual. He can almost feel the weight with which it comes just as well. There's a split second hesitation before he reaches for it, finally delving himself head first down the ever deepening rabbit hole.

"On their first night in Jader they were asked basic information. Identity, countries of origin, contact people in case of emergency, things of that nature. We found it peculiar that none of it checks out despite them passing multiple lie detector tests. And so we dug deeper… and deeper. It took us days but finally there it was, the first lead. A match was made to _Lady Josephine Montilyet of Antiva_ …"

The Major then pauses as he gauges Ian for a handful of seconds. With a sigh he presses on, "You can just imagine the level of disbelief when it's found out that the match was from _one thousand years ago_."

To his credit, the Major allows him a few minutes to absorb the revelation. It's not until his lungs started burning that he realized the air has been taken out from him. All of a sudden his heartbeat is like thunder, ringing in his ears. The city's hustle and bustle only emphasized to him that he is at the center of it all. Here at Ferelden's biggest stage, where the attention could be harsh and punishing. He walks up to the nearest window to focus, but all he could see are blurred lights.

Finally, the head of Intelligence proceeds with an ever deepening frown. "We checked multiple angles just to make sure. If the group includes Lady Montilyet, then it only follows that the rest are her contemporaries. Notable individuals that moved in the Ambassador's circles. To trim it down further, we looked at these four's common denominator—"

"—Skyhold," Ian bridges the gap, his eyes tracking traffic that emerges from the Palace's two sides.

"And that's where _Miss_ right here enters the picture." Shuffled papers and folders finally reel Ian back to his office. Now also standing, the officer helps himself at the mahogany desk as he looks for the right folder. Given that Ian has been studying the women's profiles minutes before, it didn't take him long. He takes the shorthaired one's profile front and center,

"None other than the Hero of Orlais. Arguably the most fabled Right Hand in history—Cassandra Pentaghast."

"But wasn't she—" Ian grips his desk. For support or to check that he is indeed still in the right dimension, he isn't sure.

"Killed that night? Apparently not so. In her case, having the Pentaghast bloodline still in Nevarra was a tremendous help. They may no longer be the ruling family but there they stay. And so with the blood extracted from her, we tested for a DNA match and match it did. However, it appears that hers is from the male line which has already died out around 700 years ago."

" _700 years…"_ Ian could not believe the road they're taking with their discussion. Yet the evidences are overwhelming. His eyes wander across the table, trying to extract logical answers from the printed out DNA sequences. "But nobody was supposed to have survived the attack. How?"

"I may actually have the answer to that." For a while the DNA results are buried as the Major retrieves a photo they have set aside mere minutes ago. "This," he points to the wooden staff that, in Ian's eyes, only grows more sinister by the second. In the corner of his eye he chances upon the photo of one of the four. The one with the longer dark hair, with glinting golden eyes. He keeps his eyes firmly trained forward.

"Unless you're implying it's actually a flying broomstick…" Ian spies his watch as the hands trudge closer to 10pm. He has a feeling the evening has just truly begun.

"Close," the officer has the audacity to smirk. "Remember that old legend about the witch of the Korcari Wilds? Apparently she was real, and lived around the same time as our mysterious group."

"Surely you don't mean—"

"Oh, but I most certainly do. It came straight from the source herself." The officer lifts the photo Ian was just avoiding straight to his face.

Just then, a knock echoed through the room. Their heads snap towards the double doors just as Ian's assistant peeks in, her eyes trained right at his. "Ian, Line 2. It's the King."

* * *

It has been hours since the conversation he had with the King during the previous night. After two more red-eye meetings, Ian is finally on his way back to his own office to sign off on a number of briefings. All in all, it has been a productive 24 hours and he finds himself looking forward to a down time at home, smiling at the thought of actually making it in time to have breakfast with his family. He swings one of the heavy doors to his office but is taken aback by a man standing by the windows.

"Good morning, Your Grace." Ian manages to bow without spilling his arms' contents.

The Lord Chamberlain of the Household glances over his shoulder. "Ah. The security briefing, was it?" The man inquires with almost chilling calmness as he plays with a signet ring on his left little finger.

"Yes, my Lord."

Ian is rewarded with an acknowledging nod. Just like that, he finds himself in an impromptu meeting with the King's right hand. Tradition has provided the role for the highest ranking peers of the realm. Just like his predecessors, Alistair Glenn has never lacked power and authority in his own right with being the Duke of Sunderland. His partly bald silver hair is brushed up to frame blue eyes as sharp as an eagle's. Hands brush his bespoke double breasted blazer to the sides to reveal the chain of a golden pocket watch resting in a vest pocket.

"My Lord, would you care for a seat and a drink?" Ian's offer is promptly dismissed with an apathetic wave of a hand. The Lord Chamberlain instead walks to the marble fireplace, leaving Ian with no other choice than to stand up from his desk and follow suit.

"This has become quite the interesting week and it is not even over yet," the older man remarks without breaking eye contact. A beat and he continues, "To be forward, I always held a spot against sending him to Jader. Philip had always indulged the boy so."

Ian can't say he is taken aback by the other man's remarks. It has been known that the King has _encouraged_ his heir one time too many, resulting in grumbles however silently they were let out. He gathers his thoughts and weighs the options, "Do we pull him out?"

"Most certainly not! The better option for us is to keep this as quietly as possible. This must not reach the press."

"For more than one reason, I take it," he weighs in, thinking about that _little_ detail the Major has let slip the night before.

"Indeed. The continent has been unstable as it is. Who knows what a mere squabble over artifacts could trigger? The last thing we need is a highly publicized tiff with Orlais," the man next to him contemplates with arms crossed tightly.

He nods as it dawns on him that they were both in line with the same strategic plan. He sets forth to put in the foundation, "And so quietly iron out potential disputes. If somebody asks, we can safely allude to routine assignment."

"I am glad to hear we are in agreement! His Majesty and I have discussed the matter this past hour and it has been determined that a partnership effort should be initiated with the University of Orlais. It is always uplifting when the kingdom funds an academic research, regardless of country! Bear in mind, the Orlesians do have more than half of the evidences from the explosion. This would make us privy of their progress without doing the actual work." The twinkle in the Duke's eyes says the last thing he cared about was _academic outreach_.

"A research effort, in line with the 1,000th anniversary of the Siege of Skyhold," Ian decides to play along with his higher up's morning amusement. Because, really, this is merely what it is for the powerful. An amusement with the smaller people as pawns.

"A Heritage Exhibition! A look back to the Second Inquisition! Brilliant, Ian!" Ian tries to disguise his wince as a smile just as the Lord Chamberlain's hand lands on his shoulder.

"And as a member of the Search and Rescue that helped that grievous day, the Crown Prince will be more than appropriate for the lead role. No better than Thedas' dashing _Golden Boy_ to serve as the face of its most momentous milestone! Better yet, it would enable us to keep a keen eye on his activities," the Lord Chamberlain announces and Ian could only help but groan in dismay inwardly.

 _How did it come to this, again? This is most certainly not how I imagined it a minute ago._

The older man must have read what is on his mind and provides him an angle he cannot very well ignore. "It would also give the prince opportunity to lick his wounds. Redeem his confidence."

"This all sounds promising, sir, but we would still need a contact from the University of Orlais." This time, the frown is evident as he allows his face to be open for interpretation. One wrong move and they could well ignite the diplomatic incident they are determined to avoid.

"Oh but we do have someone, Ian. And he could even put a damper to the growing web of mystery surrounding those four women." The Lord Chamberlain pauses as he catches Ian's startled glance. "Do not think I am unaware of what has transpired last evening. I tried, but Philip would not listen. This way, we both get to contain not one, not two, but _three_ ticking bombs."

Ian pauses for a minute before finally conceding, "Three, sir?"

"Go to the University of Orlais. You will understand once you get there. I think a day in the clouds is exactly what you need, what with the glorious sunny day!"

Ian leads the man out the door where he sends him off with a bow. After which he turns to his secretary stationed immediately to his right, "Joan, get me my wife, please."

He lets out an exasperated sigh as he reaches over the handset on his desk, "Mia, dear, yes I just wanted to let you know that it's looking like I won't be in for movie night…"


	6. Chapter 5: Movers and Shaken

So this chapter took longer than expected. Shoutout to my ever generous beta reader xMorbidxAngelx and my awesome friends who allow me to pester them over this little story. Most importantly, shoutout to YOU-yes you-for patiently waiting!

* * *

"So! Here we are again. Another day, another opportunity to teach a valuable lesson: _murdering princes is bad!_ "

It is the tall officer. _Yet again_. The same officer that has been interrogating them all week. And as with the rest of the week, Cassandra Pentaghast needs to remind herself that this is a different time. It is a different world. In here she does not dole out mercy but instead has to hope for some. She bows her head or else she would not help but glare at the obnoxious officer who has now proceeded to preen, striding back and forth in front of the metal table.

Every day they spend in Jader their situation becomes more scarce. And it shows. She tries not to take notice, after all she is not without heart, especially for friends. _But whatever is happening with Leliana?_

Right on cue the Right Hand of the Divine glances over her former counterpart.

Twelve years by Divine Justinia's side and three more by the Inquisitor's they have worked hand in hand. One would think all those time would be enough to know a person. And yet, here they are. If there used to be a river between them, now there is an ocean. She admits, she feels too passionately about Chantry doctrines sometimes. Leliana, well, she is far more lenient in her morals than most people are comfortable with. Still, they used to have a bridge between them that goes over their differences. Now it is burnt to bits and she is not sure who has thrown the first match.

She tried to understand. Maker knows she did, for the sake of her friend. Very few had known of the effect Justinia's death has had on Leliana. And then the Inquisitor had to follow. She raised her concern during the early stage—the Spymaster should not have involved herself with the Inquisitor in the first place! She just knew, didn't she? And then she had to leave for Val Royeaux, watching from the distance as Leliana crumbles under Skyhold's faltering weight.

But the recent days' Leliana? Something is different. It is like a candle has died out. This Leliana just does not care anymore, it is clear to her. About anything. Perhaps about anyone. She cannot help but worry that it has been putting more strain in their already tenuous situation.

"Leliana!" Cassandra calls out for the unpredictable redhead who has been lurking by the window. _What could she possibly be plotting at this moment? Does it ever end with her?_ "It's time for the interrogation. Come sit with us!"

Cassandra sees a jolt and she is glad she is still capable of eliciting a response. So long as they are still able to reach her, it does not really matter at the moment how superficial. The only important thing is to stay alive. Survive.

Leliana takes her sweet time and the watchful Right Hand feels her grasp on the vacant seat grow tighter.

 _Like she could afford all the time in the world. I would not be surprised if she believes that as well._

Cassandra resists what she feels is a more than deserved eye roll. Her sight instead lands on Ambassador Montilyet who eases the chair from her white knuckled grip. The lady gives an almost imperceptible side nod towards the direction of the officer. Cassandra does not need to look at him to know he has been taking notes.

 _Finally_ , Leliana reaches them and takes the vacant seat. It feels like the entire room is watching her _take her time_ crossing her legs, straightening her clothes that is the same bright orange like everybody else's, and then playing with her matching fiery hair.

"Please, don't let me keep you." It was the officer with his usual acerbic tone. He did not even take two minutes needling Leliana, and Cassandra feels some satisfaction in that. Someone has to put Leliana on notice, before she well and truly slips away to whatever void she is diving into.

There is a groan and it did not take long for everyone to look the witch Morrigan's way. She supposes it cannot be helped. Every time they see this officer it has always been the same. True enough, Leliana is the same way towards all the officers and soldiers. Same pettiness, same dance, same catty back and forth. All, she feels, have been nothing but a waste of their already limited time. She takes hold of her knees, bracing for whatever Leliana is going to reply. She waits… and waits. Finally it became apparent that nothing will come.

"Well, well… nothing witty for me this afternoon? Finally bottomed out, huh?" The officer asks the very questions on her mind. She tries catching Leliana's eyes this time. This used to be natural between the two of them. Back in the day when they had their own dance. They were so in sync with their passion in serving Thedas that all the rest did not really matter. Now all she sees is a pair of eyes that looks past.

Cassandra was still locked in an empty staring contest with Leliana when she hears shuffling from across the table. She did not even notice the black and sleek object the officer has with him until he is opening it. He turns it towards them just as it is coming to life… and beaming their faces in its lit up front.

"Is that—"

"You? Yes, there's no mistaking a group of assassins now is there?" The officer cuts the ambassador off and Cassandra has to work hard on concentrating on their image instead of looking up. They may be handcuffed but the officer is still well within striking distance.

"All this gloating is just cloying at this stage. Get to the point." Cassandra snaps her head to see Leliana staring down the officer. Back is the usual mocking chill in her voice and her foot is now tapping at the table's base.

"Ah! She's finally awake! I have to say, it's taking longer every day to get you back down to Thedas, wherever your mind has been taking you. Do you have a boyfriend you need to go home to?"

From where Cassandra is sitting she could hear the ambassador's sharp intake of breath. She closes her eyes, unsure where to aim her dagger stares. To Lady Montilyet who should know better by now than to be so easily prodded? To the officer who is, if she is being blunt about it, just doing his job to poke at all the sore spots? Or does she unleash her frustration to the one true cause of all these things? She feels frustration bubbling from her gut and she has to look out the window, getting ready to pour out the rising, hot irritation _somewhere_.

But it's too late. Their reactions were more than enough for the officer to pick up on. "So there _is_ a significant someone. Tell me, what would you do if some lunatic decided to slit his throat? Would you still be so damn calm and collected then?"

"Sorry, officer, but you would not have made my list anyway."

That _tapping_. Cassandra is already starting to choose which part of Leliana to stop first, her tongue or her foot. She dedicates more of her attention to the sunny day outside, watching the soldiers who are by then concluding the day's training.

"Is this conversation really essential to this afternoon's interrogation? We would be more than willing to cooperate on other matters, Lieutenant." It was Lady Montilyet, ever the diplomat of the group. Cassandra can't help but have her heart go the hapless Antivan's way. Surely the woman feels just as flat footed as she has been this past week.

"But what if I do? There's only one way to find out." The officer continues to prod back without abandon. He snaps his fingers and without preamble hops out of his seat. It takes him two long strides to reach the door and just like that, they find themselves all alone. _Left to the tapping._

Cassandra finds herself finally unable to hold back and zeroes in on the nonchalant redhead beside her. Her legs are still crossed and now that her main amusement has left the room, has gone back to inspecting her hair. She has more than half a mind to let Leliana hear it, and yet, she sits there. Unable to put into words the spectacle that her friend is making of herself. It is another handful of seconds of narrowed eyed, intense glaring until she turns to Morrigan instead.

"What are we going to do?"

"Make her stop with the annoying foot tapping, for one," Morrigan intones.

"This is going to be a long day." All Cassandra could do was to massage her throbbing temples, willing the headache to die down. She looks up from her misery as soon as she hears the door swing. What her eyes landed on, instead, makes the throbbing come alive into a deafening pounding!

"I thought I'd bring in these flowers," the officer chuckles as he peeks from behind a flower pot. The three stalks have a simple arrangement, as if it is meant to draw the eyes to the red and white petals. She hears a chuckle from her left and in a beat killed it off from Morrigan's lips with a snarl. At least the sorceress has the mind to pick when to push. Because this is definitely not one of those times.

All the airy sunlight from outdoors could not suffice to warm the creeping chill in the room. True enough, the tapping has died down. The silence starts to envelope them as three pairs of eyes travel from the flowers to Leliana and then back again. She spies Leliana to the right as the spymaster stiffens in her chair. There's a sadness in Cassandra's heart just as she sees the empty look once again.

"It's a special delivery just for you, my red haired lady!" The _demon_ places the flowers by the right side of the table. "Freshly picked Andraste's Grace in this glorious afternoon! Aren't they your _favorites_?"

"Please, officer. This is quite enough." Josephine leans towards the table, her arms shielding Leliana.

"Oh, I agree. This is enough." A hard voice bounces off the room's four walls. Standing by the doorway is a man roughly in his 50's. He is clad in a formal uniform, different from the customary green camouflage. His chest shines in the afternoon sun with all his medals that are lined up. His face, however, brings all the gloom and thunder that is not at all promising for their circumstance.

"Major!" Cassandra does not think it possible for the officer in front of them to lose his luster any quicker. He almost tips his chair over as he salutes, weathering the glower of the much senior man. He stands in attention the entire time the Major sweeps the room with eagle eyes. With the man's every step the already charged air in the room thickens. Cassandra fends off the suffocating tension by swallowing a lump of air.

"I didn't think traumatizing already compromised women is part of your job description, Lieutenant. Or is it?" The Major stops in front of the junior officer, his eyes and his shoulders firm and squared.

There's a couple of seconds hesitation but finally the adherence to the chain of command wins. "Sir, no sir!"

"Your work is done here. You are dismissed!" The Major returns the salute after what seems to be an eternity, eyes still sharp as daggers.

"Sir, thank you, sir!" The Lieutenant strides out of the room and closes the room behind him. Cassandra would let out a relieved sigh but is too occupied with the intense eyes now surveying the four of them.

"Ferelden didn't always have the most advanced military. But we sure fielded the most determined soldiers." The senior officer seizes the metal chair without breaking eye contact. Cassandra focuses on the jingling sounds his medals produce as he takes a seat. "Make no mistake, an attack on the future sovereign will be perceived as an attack on Ferelden. It will be seen as an attack on what the throne symbolizes for the nation, which is stability. And continuity. It will be taken as an upfront to what Fereldans have worked long and hard to attain, which is a fair place on the table in this continent."

Cassandra feels her confidence crumble under the officer's weighted words and stare. She draws her gaze back out the window, trying to ignore the bandages peeling from the wound that is still smarting. As the day draws to an end, she watches two soldiers salute the Fereldan flag while a third one lowers it from the pole. She has had enough of this for the past week. Enough of the shame, of the remorse. Enough of being made to bear what she—what they—had become the second they attacked their rescuer. True enough, it was not known to them at the time that they were in the presence of royalty. But to her, it is even worse that they were driven to attack a dedicated soldier. What has he ever done that afternoon, aside from serving his country? Aside from helping the needy?

She cannot take it anymore. As the trio of soldiers finish folding the flag, she tears her eyes away and slams her fists on the table. She feels a pair of eyes train on her. It is tempting to just let go of all that she has bottled up but she cannot take that reprieve, too, can she? It is not her that has had the worst experience in the course of the week. She thinks of the innocent officer whom they have heard had fled the base. A prince who is no longer secure in his home. What will become of him because of them?

The glimpse of their image in criminal clothes cuts like a jagged shard of glass. Cassandra tries to wash away the sting with a sharp breath. "Please… you have to understand. It was not us."

She looks up to see the officer's hand on top of hers. Sympathy was the last thing she expected and the gesture keeps Cassandra's bubbling anxiety from spilling over. "Then please, my lady, help us understand."

The reverence stops her from her tracks. It is only a week without hearing it and somehow it feels like a world away. Now it all makes sense. The heightened provocations to make them lose composure. The flower. These people had already discovered who they really are. She catches Lady Josephine looking at her. No words are needed to confirm that they are in the same way of thinking. If they are to get the help they need, then they would have to give these people what they want.

The _complete_ truth.

* * *

" _I just don't understand. Why are you in Orlais?"_ The phone static does not do well in masking his wife's disappointment. Ian can't help but grunt from its weight that comes all the way back from Denerim.

"My darling, I needed to be here. The Lord Chamber—"

" _That was two days ago, Ian! Movie night was one thing. It's your son's birthday today!"_

Her mounting frustration makes words launch out of his mouth in an unfiltered slingshot. "What does he want? I'm in Val Royeaux and I can get him anything he wants!"

" _He wants his father home! You know James has been waiting—"_

A sigh from the other line is all the signal he needs. He closes his eyes to ward off the guilt. This is not the time to allow himself to be distracted.

A moment later, the sparring match resumes. _"Some boys would ask for all sort of things, Ian. Our son only wanted a complete family for dinner, just for once."_

"Jessica—"

The normally stoic chief of staff cannot hold off the guilt any longer. But any bubbling emotion is kept in the bottle as he is cut off.

" _Don't even promise to make it up to us. I've heard it all before. We've heard it all before."_

The sharpness of her tone ends in a pointed snap. It takes Ian another second to realize that he's no longer talking to anyone. Still he finds himself still willing for the conversation to carry on, but all he gets is a busy tone. He puts the receiver back in the cradle and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"… _This would be the eighth disappearance in the last ten days around Lake Calenhad. Whether they are all connected to the recent health cases is yet to be determined. Authorities, therefore, are driven to dissuade citizens from leaving their homes and cause unwarranted hysteria—"_

Ian tosses the remote control in disgust right as the wall mounted TV shuts off.

Whirlwind can't even describe the past 48 hours for the weary chief of staff. A last minute flight brought him from stormy Denerim to sunny Val Royeaux and it has been a flurry of meetings ever since. True enough, he has made this corner room at the Fereldan Embassy as a nerve center of sorts. For in all the 11th hour meetings and proposals, the foundation of his mission is deliberate and methodical.

Word flew in that the still missing prince has been spotted in the outskirts of Val Royeaux not three days ago. No wonder the Lord Chamberlain felt the need to step in. After all, they were talking about one of the most densely populated areas in the continent, if not the world. The fact that Prince Nikolai is risking getting found out by the public is a definite game changer. Ian can't even get himself to think about the implications; the future commander of the armed forces shirking his post for a frolic in the glamorous Orlesian sun? The media would be all over it. True enough, it has triggered a rat race in the cobbled streets of Val Royeaux and Ferelden has just dived in front and center.

Still, the heavens seem to have finally given him some room to maneuver. During his research. he has found another potential piece to this frantic puzzle. One that is all but shying away in the outskirts of the city. But however obscure the bomb is hidden, it is a bomb still. A hazard that is bound to set off at the slightest touch. Just thinking of diffusing the little _surprise_ sends him yet another pulsating headache. He takes a sip of bubbly water, fooling himself that it will somehow drown the throbbing.

He can only take a small reprieve that at least now he knows what lies before him. Such is why he has gone through painstaking lengths to assemble some stepping stones. _For traction_. After all, high stakes do come with high rewards. And the rewards of this little sojourn of his is bringing back a wayward prince back to the Fereldan capital.

He looks down to his schedule to end the day.

 _ **Day 1**_

1̶:̶0̶0̶-̶3̶:̶0̶0̶p̶m̶:̶ ̶F̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶s̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶S̶c̶i̶e̶n̶t̶i̶f̶i̶c̶ ̶S̶o̶c̶i̶e̶t̶y̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶A̶n̶d̶e̶r̶f̶e̶l̶s̶ ̶(̶F̶S̶S̶A̶)̶-

4̶:̶0̶0̶-̶8̶:̶0̶0̶p̶m̶:̶ ̶M̶e̶e̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶y̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶c̶a̶s̶u̶a̶l̶t̶i̶e̶s̶ ̶–̶ ̶F̶r̶o̶s̶t̶b̶a̶c̶k̶s̶ ̶i̶n̶c̶i̶d̶e̶n̶t̶

 _ **Day 2**_

9̶:̶0̶0̶-̶1̶1̶:̶3̶0̶a̶m̶:̶ ̶O̶r̶l̶e̶s̶i̶a̶n̶ ̶H̶i̶s̶t̶o̶r̶i̶c̶a̶l̶ ̶S̶o̶c̶i̶e̶t̶y̶ ̶ ̶2̶:̶0̶0̶

4̶:̶0̶0̶p̶m̶:̶ ̶U̶n̶i̶v̶e̶r̶s̶i̶t̶i̶e̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶C̶o̶l̶l̶e̶g̶i̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶S̶y̶s̶t̶e̶m̶s̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶F̶r̶e̶e̶ ̶M̶a̶r̶c̶h̶e̶s̶ ̶(̶U̶C̶S̶F̶M̶)̶

5:30-8:00pm: Thedosian Heritage

Ian finds himself nodding, seeing the extent of his agenda that he has braved through thus far. A beat and he walks around the desk. And so the Great Game begins.

The chief of staff makes a dimple on his _third_ necktie of the day and fixes his half spectacle glasses atop the bridge of his nose. It would have been more ideal to change the rest of his outfit as well, especially given the magnitude of his dinner meeting. As a Fereldan, however, there's a limit to what he would put up with in regards Orlesians and their roundabout ways. The makeshift office's panoramic windows glisten in Orlesian summer sun. He avoids the rays on his way out, willing his pink shirt and polka dotted tie to dim down a bit.

The hotel is only a block away from the embassy and so Ian has decided to walk. Before long he finds himself staring up at a building with four great marble pillars. The façade practically glows in all the shimmering and sparkling gold. The floor is cushioned by red carpets sprawled throughout. Armed with folders of the past couple of day's conquests, he marches in. The cheerful summer sun is replaced by tens of smaller beams, all just as bright and inviting.

" _Bonsoir monsieur! Bienvenue!"_ Ian tears his attention away from the alluring lights to the equally sunny valet beaming at him.

" _Bonsoir_ ," Ian replies. "I have a reservation for 5:30, table for two."

" _Cheerful_ outfit, half spectacles. Are you by any chance _Monsieur_ Ian Olafson?" The valet peers through his black and red head gear.

"Yes. Indeed, I am." Ian tries hard not to peek down to his polka dotted tie. Still, he is unable to stop his free hand as it straightens his half-Windsor knot.

"Excellent! Your booth is right this way!" The undiluted sunny smile is back and Ian finds himself following the attendant. Into the vast room they go, past mazes of fine diners and even finer cutlery. His mind wanders back to the time last Christmas when Jessica tried to persuade him into buying a set of similar dinnerware. He wonders if she would appreciate a dinner at this place, just them three. He allows his sights to perch elsewhere, dodging a stinging memory as it slashes past.

He could have been having dinner with his family right now. No matter. It only means he must pull off this meeting without a hitch if he wants to be back home at the soonest possible time. He _must_ pull this off.

" _Monsieur_ , your dinner awaits."

Ian finds himself frowning at the valet's expectant look. For a brief second he shakes his head and sends the man a cordial smile as thanks. He pivots towards the booth and allows his smile to grow into something friendlier. There in front of him is a woman in her late 20's. Her inquisitive olive eyes are framed by strips of wavy black hair that cascade from a bun. A pair of silky, slender arms are crossed in the way that all Val Royeaux-raised noble ladies do, with a finger tapping at a wine glass.

"Lady Montilyet, good evening." He nods in greeting as he settles himself on the bench opposite her, trying hard to be graceful amidst the ruffling of folders and papers. He checks his watch as subtle as he could manage as he tidies up the stack. Judging by the woman's arched eyebrow, however, he knows she has caught on. After all, Lady Gabriella of the famed Montilyet house is a true player of the game through and through. Just like so many of her predecessors before her. Getting to their dinner meeting earlier than the appointed time is an advantage point she would happily take.

"Word has it you have been moving puzzle pieces, Ian." She waves a waiter over, putting down her glass to receive the menu. Not a second later, she gestures towards the chilled wine in a way that is so elegant that Ian finds it painful to even decline.

"Words do have ways to get around here faster, so it seems." Ian sends the waiter an appreciative smile as he makes room for his own glass of wine.

"It's what makes Val Royeaux's streets glimmer more in the sun." Her eyes sparkle as if making a point.

"Ah. Now we know what's making Denerim fall short." He averts his eyes from his tie for the fourth time since entering the hotel.

"And are you taking notes to take back home?" Lady Gabriella takes notice of the documents beside him, her lips curving to an amused half smile.

"I'm afraid we don't have the cobblestones to match, my lady."

"And yet, here you are…"

"Do I stand out from the rest of the tourists?"

Ian chuckles as Lady Gabriella slips out a grin, her eyes fixed on his flamboyant outfit. They both nod to the waiter as the man leaves with their orders. As soon as he is out of earshot, she speaks again.

"The Chief of Staff of Ferelden's Royal House rushing to meet the FSSA, the Historical Society, and the UCSFM in two days when he's had two decades to do so. Is Ferelden finally sick of ranking second to last in Thedas in academic and scientific research?"

Ian is hit with a shift so sudden. His genial smile is wiped from his space in a split second. He looks straight to the woman in front of her. The sparkle in her eyes are gone. As is the amused smile.

"We do have the top ranking university in the world, my lady." The bright lights and high arching windows makes him feel like the rest of the room is waiting for him to perform. He is left with nothing else to do than fiddle with the stem of his wine glass.

"True. But it's also the only one in the top 10. And even then it's ranked lower than the rest of the list when it comes to research grants. Not to mention that none of the government-funded Fereldan schools even touched the top 20."

Lady Gabriella seem to take no penance in making him squirm. But then again, he should have expected such. Did he really expect any different in walking into the lion den willingly?

"Which is why we're eager to make the most of this visit. To… rebuild bridges." His fingers slide ever so higher up the tall, sweaty glass stem. The rosé swirls on and grows more enticing by the second. He finds his throat growing drier and his necktie getting tighter.

"You have quite some rebuilding to undertake, then. Is that what this romantic dinner meeting is all about, hm?"

Just as Ian is getting ready to respond, he feels a tap on his left shoulder. He looks up to find himself face to face with the son of the Duke of Amaranthine.

"Ian", the young man beams across the table, "Hi, Gabbie!"

"Gerald. Weren't you supposed to be _two countries_ north of Orlais?" Lady Gabriella sends him back a curt nod. It does little to allay the sunshine that the young man has brought with him, however.

"Come now. Why would I sentence myself to Antiva when it's such a lovely day outside? Besides, I was just passing by to greet Ian here." Right on cue he redirects his attention to the older man next to him. "You, sir, are a legend for sneaking Nikolai some free time to come with us to the dunes!"

With the bright lights, Ian finds the audience focused on him. Re-arranging his spectacles does little in warding off two pairs of aristocratic eyes. Finally he gives them a wry smile, and then surrenders to the relief that the undemanding stem of rosé is willing to give.

"Well, I'm glad to know that the situation back home has settled enough for the heir to the throne to be afforded an escape!" Lady Montilyet seizes the opportunity. All the while, Ian wipes the water droplets from his glass as he withstands her laser-like eyes. He couldn't be any more thankful as their dinner arrives.

"Oh, you're just about to have dinner. I best get on my way then!" The duke's son strides away and Ian just barely keeps it together not to ask him where the crown prince is heading next.

"Ian. What is this?" The frost is unmistakable as Lady Gabriella wastes no second. With that, Ian peels desperate eyes away from the leaving man's back. If he leaves his table now, Ian will still be able to reach him by the restaurant doors. His legs are coiled, buzzing for action. And yet, the severe weight from a pair of olive eyes makes him stay seated. A minute passes. And then two. He saves the chilled rosé from a tepid fate and downs it all in one go.

"The crown prince has been missing." He lets the news sink in. For her and for him. Finally he gathers enough will to continue. "For a full week we are left without any leads—"

"Until now, which is why you're here." She pushes her plate forward. With her elbows where her dinner used to be, she leans in. No doubt assessing the unfolding train wreck that is him.

"It's only a matter of time until information trickles down to the media. And with all that is happening in Ferelden—the outbreak, the disappearances, the impending chaos as Lake Calenhad gets deserted…"

"People will not take kindly to a tone deaf prince. On the same breadth, I also do not take kindly to people who are out to use me."

The shtick is up. Ian knows this. He comes in to this meeting with one foot already dangling on the cliff. Every step is crucial and grows trickier by the minute. He needs solid footing if he is to salvage his Orlesian trip. The weary chief of staff reaches for the wine cradle and pours another glass.

"What are you here for? To get to me?" Her voice is low but the icy tone is unmistakable.

"My lady, please do not think ill. This meeting has been put in place in behalf of the Fereldan govern—"

"To find your prince through me!"

"It is not what you think at all. My lady, please—"

"All those calls I had been receiving. Those people actually believed that Ferelden is changing its tune. That your government is sincere in reaching out. And—" She puts a firm hand by the table's side as Ian sees a flash of recollection in her eyes, "The victims' families! Oh I refuse to be a part of _this_ … cynical use of grieving people!"

"My lady. I assure you that the past couple of days has been spent in utmost good faith!"

"Ian. I'm going to ask again or I'm going to leak it myself that Ferelden's government is so disorganized that they managed to lose their crown prince." She finishes her own glass of wine before giving Ian her complete attention. "Why am I here?"

"We— _I_ felt that your presence and support in my endeavor to reach out to the academic community will be met with higher success as Ferelden—"

"I gave you a chance. You're not listening. This meeting is over!" Ian is jolted by reality as Lady Montilyet prepares to stand up. His legs that had been coiled for a while act on their own and he finds himself standing upright, their table left to wobble between them.

"Gabbie. _He's_ back. And he's here in Orlais."


End file.
